Rise of the Fifty Daggers
by ShadowMajin
Summary: AU. Sequel to AnonymousVoid's Thirteen Nightmares Ascend. Gotham hadn't always belonged to the Batman. Shrouded in myth, a dark force rises to reclaim what once belonged to it. Blood will be spilled and nothing will be the same.
1. Her Name Was Alice

Hello, hello, ShadowMajin here, returning to the Batman section with the next chapter of AnonymousVoid and my series. This has been a story long in the making, pretty much being created at the same time as AV's Thirteen Nightmares Ascend was being brainstormed. We have a lot of good stuff for y'all, so we hope you enjoy.

* * *

Her name was Alice.

"Alice Simmons, 16 years old, honor roll student at Gotham High," Dent spoke, rattling off the victim's biography as if he had it memorized. It was very likely he did. "She's on the volleyball team and captain's the soccer team. She stands at 5'8", weighs around 115 lbs, blonde hair, blues eyes, and according to her classmates, very popular. She was walking home with friends after school before she decided to take a shortcut down the alley between Marrows and 68th. That was the last anyone has seen of her."

It had been 72 hours since the girl's disappearance. She was originally listed as a missing person before being upgraded to kidnapping when police retraced the girl's steps.

Gravel crunched beneath Gordon's shoes as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "We know the girl was taken on the Marrows' side of the ally. The shopkeeper of a secondhand store saw a white van pull up in front of Simmons, pulled her in, and sped off. We found the skid marks where the tires peeled off."

It was...unusual that Dent and Gordon presented a kidnapping case. Most of these rooftop meetings dealt with mob movements, drug shipments, and the like. A missing teenager, while intolerable, was not a normal occurrence.

Unless that teenager just so happened to be the niece of a senator.

"Any word from the senator?" Gordon asked, directing his question to Dent.

"Oh, you know, the usual 'I want my niece found or it's your job' threat," the DA shrugged off. "But between the three of us, the sooner she's found, the better and not because of who her uncle is."

Cape enveloping him, Batman turned his attention to the police commissioner. "What other evidence did your forensics team find?"

"Other than the tires being Goodyears?" Gordon retorted. "Not much other than her purse. Currently we're trying to get a list of all cars and trucks that have purchased that particular tire, but I'm not expecting much. The license plate numbers the shopkeeper was able to get turned out to belong to a Kenny Stills in Monroe, Louisiana and he's hasn't left that state since the end of World War II. In all likelihood, the van is stolen and that's not going to get us any closer."

To be honest, it was probably too late for Alice, unfortunately. They were beyond the first 48 hours where the likelihood of finding her was at its best. Her trail was cold now, the kidnappers long gone. Without any further leads, her fate would be determined by the captor's whim. Considering her age, it didn't look good that she'd be kept in Gotham and unviolated.

"I'll recanvas the scene," the Batman said then. "See if there's anything that was missed in the initial investigation."

"I'll keep on trying to ID the van," Gordon replied, not the least bit offended. It wasn't a matter of insinuating poor police work, but having a fresh set of eyes. That wasn't taking into account the vigilante's knack for catching things that others missed either.

"And I'll buy us more time from Senator Simmons," Dent added. "He's more bluster and bravado than he is an actual threat, but he could complicate matters if he decides to take matters into his own hands."

That was the end of the meeting, unofficially anyways. There were still logistics to discuss on Dent and Gordon's side, but that didn't matter much to the dark-clad man. Turning away, he glided over the roof until he reached the edge, leaping off of it and falling over the side. Activating the electric current in his gauntlet, he grabbed his cape and felt it stiffen behind him, his descent coming to a halt as he began to soar forward.

Wind blowing by his head and around his body, Batman angled his flight around a building, heading towards a lower one to land on. As the distance closed between him and it, he released his hold on his cape and felt it go slack, dropping him down onto the roof where he immediately kicked off into a run. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out his grapple and fired it at the much taller building in front of him. Feeling the cable go tant once it hit the anchor point, he hit the retraction button and launched up into the air.

Because of this, he was given the sight of the large round light in the sky, a bat symbol in the middle of it. It had been a year since Gordon and Dent had erected that signal, something that even now the Batman wasn't used to. It was unfamiliar having people having a way to command his presence, but it had proven useful during its time.

Not to mention Gordon's perchance for leaving it on throughout the night. Statistics had shown that crime had a noticeable decline whenever it was on and the commissioner wasn't one to not use a tool that had such results.

It was just a shame that tonight's usage had to involve a teenage girl.

However, if there was one thing that Batman was, it was determined. Damn the odds against finding her, he would make sure to bring her home, no matter what it took.

Her name was Alice and he would find her.

* * *

Unlike most alleyways, the one between Marrows and 68th was clean and maintained. It didn't give off a negative, unwelcoming aura that most alleys did, so it made sense why a teenage girl living in one of the more dangerous cities in America decided to use it as a shortcut. Unfortunately, that proved to be a bad move on her part this time.

Standing at the mouth of the alleyway, Batman slowly panned his head from left to right, making sure the lens in his cowl recorded everything. Once he was sure that was done, he began to retrace the crime scene.

The first thing the dark-clad man was quick to note was the damp areas on the nearby buildings and ground—evidence there had been rain recently. That was a problem. Three days was a long time for a crime scene to be exposed to the elements; any potential lead that was out here was contaminated by the rain water, not to mention the wind possibly blowing other clues away, such as scraps of paper or food wrappers. The crime scene was very poor and it irritated the Dark Knight to know that his best chance for leads was long gone. Regardless, he would perform his own canvass of the scene and see if he could find something that slipped by the GCPD.

Starting with the skid marks on the street, the vigilante moved to stand over them, looking down at the black markings. They were the darkest to the left, fading as they stretched to the right; this indicated the van headed north towards downtown. There weren't any irregularities in the marks, a sign that the tires were maintained and not wearing down. Tire purchases was not the way to go, unfortunately for the police. And because it had been three days since the kidnapping, the tracks themselves were not as prominent as the time they were made. They were beginning to look much like the other tire marks on the street, soon to be just another scar no one bothered to notice.

Turning around, he looked at the sidewalk, mentally reciting the police report in his head. Alice's purse had been found on the sidewalk, fallen from her shoulder as she had been grabbed. The contents of the purse were typical of a teenage girls: wallet, make-up, mirror, tic-tacs, and strangely enough a candle. However, what wasn't found was her cell phone.

Seeing as the Simmons' family had a family phone plan with their provider, three of the phones were accounted for as belonging to the father, mother, and brother—that left one missing, and thus belonging to Alice. So if the phone wasn't in her purse, logic dictated that she had been holding onto it when she was grabbed. And since the police hadn't found the phone on the scene…

Reaching to his belt, Batman opened a pouch and pulled out a palm pilot, activating it as the screen lit up. Hitting a button, the vigilante spoke into the device, "Computer: perform a GPS trace on the Simmons family' phones."

While it was a certainty the GCPD had looked for her phone, the fact they hadn't found it yet indicated they weren't searching effectively. It was most likely they had the girl's cell phone number and were monitoring it for its use, triangulating it from there. While that was a good idea, it depended entirely on luck. The kidnappers could have removed the phone or had the good sense not to use. That left tracing the phone through that avenue as a dead end.

However, there were other ways. For instance, every phone had a GPS chip embedded in the device. If one were to acquire the chip's frequency, they could follow the signal back to its source, which was what the Dark Knight was doing. Yet, this also could possibly be a dead end as well. If the phone was off, the GPS chip would be inactive and that would be one less way to find Alice. And since it had been three days, the odds the phone had any power left were miniscule at best. Still, Batman would be doing the girl a disservice if he didn't try everything he could to help her.

Lowering his handheld device, the dark-clad man continued his observations. Glancing down to the sidewalk in front of his boots, he noticed some scuff marks. Kneeling down for a closer look, the vigilante took in the breadth and length of their marks, along with the color. They were faded, and given a few days they would have gone unnoticed even to the sharpest eye. While such marks weren't uncommon on concrete walkways, the fact that these marks were parallel to each other and the distance between them was roughly the same length as two legs spread apart from another, it was possible this was the exact spot where Alice was grabbed.

If that were the case, then she put up some resistance, bracing her feet on the ground and pushing back as she was pulled forward, which caused the bottom of her shoes to scrape on the concrete. Considering she was an athlete, it would've taken a rather strong person to pull her against her will. It was likely the perpetrator was a large man with the strength to match. It also eliminated the scenario of someone sneaking up on her and grabbing her. If that were the case, the normal action would be to lift the girl off the ground and force her forward. In this case, she was pulled towards the van.

A sharp beeping sound interrupted Batman's thoughts, causing him to raise his palm pilot up and hold it in front of his face. On the screen was a map of Gotham, zoomed in to encompass four dots. Three of the dots were along the left border of the screen—undoubtedly the phones belonging to the Simmons family. It wasn't surprising to see them all together considering their current tragedy.

That just left the fourth and lone dot up in the upper right corner. Zooming in on the dot, the Dark Knight triangulated the location, eyes narrowing beneath his cowl. That was just outside downtown in the Industrial sector. It seemed luck was giving him a helpful hand but providing the Simmons' girl's phone with enough juice to last this long.

Putting the palm pilot into hibernation mode, Batman quickly pocketed the device before pulling out his grapple. Firing it towards a nearby building, he waited for the line to tighten before he began retracting it, lifting off the ground and into the air. Though unlikely this was to be the girl's location, it would provide some clue as to her fate, be it good, bad, or otherwise.

* * *

The soft groaning of weakening metal rang out until the bolts holding the grate gave out. The grate fell from the wall and landed on the floor with a loud _clang!_ The cement walls of the building made the clanging bounce and echo in the desolate building.

Emerging from the vent, Batman dropped to the ground, landing softly in comparison to the grate. Upon reaching this place, the vigilante had done a recon of the site, determining fairly quickly that the place was abandoned. Still, to prevent contamination of the potential crime scene, the vigilante had snuck in through the ventilation system.

It wasn't a large room by any standard; in fact, this building was nothing more than a forgotten gas station with an attached garage. The building was originally a tire-change shop that was run out of business and the owners simply left it behind.

This made it perfect for stashing a stolen vehicle, such as the white van in front of Batman. There was some room to walk around, but not much so he had to be careful lest he contaminate something. Slowly he walked around the van, spotting the Louisiana license plate on the back end. A glance at the numbers and letters on the plate informed him he had a match for the one the GCPD had done a check on. At least he had the right vehicle.

A glance around the shack made the vigilante pause for a moment. On the floor, he couldn't help but notice a large number of footprints present. Obviously this place wasn't well-maintained, which left a nice film of grime on the floor. Kneeling down, Batman studied a couple of the nearby prints.

The shoe prints were large, a few of which had different patterns. Picking out a check mark and a few leaf designs, it didn't take much for the Dark Knight to figure out that at least two men wore Nike and Adidas shoes. The computer in the cave would be able to analyze these prints and determine what shoes they belonged to and their sizes. From there he could obtain a list of purchases for those specific shoes and match the purchases against his profile of the kidnappers.

With that done, that just left the van for further observation. Approaching the back doors, the dark-clad man grabbed the handle and twisted it, swinging the door open to reveal the van to be empty aside from pieces of trash. Slowly sweeping his vision from the back bumper to the back of the front seats for his recordings, Batman then began searching for any clues left behind.

The first thing he spotted were hairs, particularly long blonde ones. Reaching for his belt, Batman pulled out a small plastic bag and tweezers. Carefully he picked up the hairs and held them in the air, opening the small bag and holding it underneath his sample. Placing the hairs in it, he was quick to seal the bag and place it into his belt.

He continued his search. Fortunately he found more hairs, these different from the blonde strands he initially found. Putting them in their own baggies, the vigilante then began to venture into the vehicles, being sure to scan every last inch of the floor bed.

He had only moved a couple steps in when he came to a full stop. There, in between the grooves of the floor bed there was a stain, long dried by time. Reaching to the pouch next to the one he pulled out the baggies, he pulled out a vial. Twisting the top off, he held the top out, a small q-tip extending from the bottom of the cap. Carefully, he dabbed the swab on the stain, sure to retrieve a sample on cotton head. He then stuck the swab back into the vial and twisted the top back on, adding it to his collection of evidence.

A little further into the van left the vigilante finding a black zip tie. It was very likely the kidnapper had used it or one just like it to tie up Alice Simmons. The zip tie found itself also in a small plastic baggy and secured into the pouch with the hair strands.

Reaching the back of the front seats, Batman found himself frowning. The reason for him being here was because he had been able to track the Simmons girl's cell phone. Unless it was lying somewhere on the floor in this shack, it had to be in the van. Considering that it was still here, the kidnapper couldn't have known about it, otherwise they would've disposed of it. So it had to be in the van for the SIM card to still be active.

As it turned out, there was a gap between the floor bed and the front seat. Eyeing the gap, Batman scanned it from left to right, stopping right behind the passenger seat. _There._ Reaching into the gap, his fingers touched a small, flat object, the dark-clad man grabbing it and pulling it out.

Lo and behold, his fingers were clutching a cell phone. Hitting the On button, it quickly became apparent that the battery was out of power. He would just have to charge it once he left this place. Again, he pulled out a baggie and placed the phone in it. While it would be best for the police to get their hands on the phone, they would just have to wait their turn. The vigilante had a better chance of discovering something in the memory card than the forensics team.

With the phone secure in his belt, that just left the front seat remaining in his investigation. Leaning into the gap between the driver's and passenger's seats, Batman studied the dashboard, seats, and doors. Again, this was all for his recording so he could go through the scene a second time in the cave.

Once he had the record, Batman began further searching. As luck would have it, there were short, dark hairs on the headrests, the first visual confirmation of Alice's kidnapper—make that kidnappers. If there was someone pulling the girl into the van, there had to be someone driving it as well in order to snatch the surprised teen and speed off as fast as the incident was reported to be.

Further searching, unfortunately, didn't prove as rewarding. Though Batman hadn't been expecting to find any, there wasn't any registration for the van, further cementing the vehicle as stolen. The same with any verification or license of the van's owner. While that would have made the investigation so much easier, it wasn't entirely unexpected.

However, that didn't mean he wasn't out of further avenues of evidence-collecting. Considering that kidnappers had been careless enough to leave hairs in the car, there was a decent probability they left something more damning: fingerprints. It would take a lot of time to get fingerprints of every person that had been in the van and that was a commodity he didn't have an abundance of. Neither did Alice for that matter, assuming she was still alive.

Aside from time though, the dark-clad man didn't have enough powder to brush the entire van. That meant he had to use it as best he could and he knew exactly where to start: the steering wheel.

Once he was done here, he'd send an anonymous tip to Gordon about this place so that the GCPD could have a go. They could get the rest of the prints he couldn't and process them while he ran tests on the other evidence he had collected.

Batman paused. No, with the number of footprints on the floor, that was a clear indication that this place was active and not just a one-time dump. If the police were here, the kidnappers would be scared off and he'd have to begin his search all over again. Perhaps prudence was in order here.

Turning to leave the van, Batman came to a sudden halt. Staring at the side of the vehicle, he was quick to note the presence of a sliding side door. Recalling the eyewitness' report, there had been a mention of a side door. Perhaps there was a possibility of finding prints on the door handle here as well; he had enough powder to do it as well.

It was time to get started then.

* * *

One thing I noticed during the writings of the previous stories was a distinct lack of investigation on Batman's part. So I wanted to delve into that aspect of the character, considering he does have a reputation as the World's Greatest Detective. He may not have that title just now in this series, but hopefully this chapter moved him a step closer. That being said, there's more exciting thing's just around the corner! Stay tuned!


	2. On The Move

The chirping of the bats mingled with the repeated clicks of the processing supercomputer, the light from the monitor bathing the cave in a eerie glow. Sitting before the computer, Batman watched as it processed the commands he'd inputted. Multiple analysis were running, analyzing the hair samples found in the van along with the recordings of the shoe prints on the shack's floor.

Then there were the fingerprints. He had struck gold on the change signal switch—at least a thumb and finger—and the side door handle; that made a full set. While the steering wheel and the inside of the van were clean, the kidnappers had forgotten these two spots, the door handle coming on the outside of the van strangely enough. For such careful people they made the oddest mistakes.

Suddenly a window popped up on the computer screen. It seemed the hair sample analysis were finished. Reading the results, it was quickly apparent that the strands were from different people. At least three were in the van, two dark-haired persons and a blonde one. A stop at the Simmons' residence allowed the vigilante to obtained a known hair sample of Alice Simmons and according to the results, the blonde hairs were a match. Alice had been in that van, that was a certainty now.

Now he just had to figure out who else had been in that vehicle.

Just then a new window appeared—speak of the devil. The fingerprint analysis was complete. So who did they belong too…

Two different people. Inching towards the front of the chair, Batman leaned forward as he read the results. The prints were matched following a comparison in the...Department of Motor Vehicle database—so no priors. Hmm, according to the DMV, the prints matched Theodore Knight III.

That made the dark-clad man frown. He knew that name. Fingers danced over the keyboard, typing in an order. Quickly, a new window appeared with all of the suspect's relevant info. Theodore Knight, son of Winston and Victoria Knight, heir to the Knight Family fortune. Ran in the same circle his billionaire persona did; but whereas Bruce Wayne pretended to be spoiled playboy, Knight was just spoiled. Didn't have nearly the same luck with the ladies as Wayne either.

Which is why his involvement with the kidnappings didn't make sense. Scrolling through the window, it wasn't until the vigilante reached the bottom that something interesting emerged. One week ago a missing persons report had been filed on behalf of Theodore Knight; so Knight went missing to kidnapping a high school girl? Something wasn't adding up.

Switching to another window, the Dark Knight pulled up the second window. This one proved more fruitful. Deever Tweed: had a significant rap sheet including assault and battery, armed robbery, grand theft auto, and...kidnapping. A look at Tweed's pictured showed a large, obese, bald man—that was definitely someone that could easily manhandle an athletic teenage girl.

That still left a third man considering there was another set of dark hairs. That placed three men in the van with Knight either the passenger or the driver. They pull up to the ally where Alice Simmons was exiting. Tweed opens the side door, drags Alice in, and they take off. That just leaves their destination before they left the van at the shack.

Considering Knight was listed as a missing person, it was doubtful any of these men were using their own residences as a hideout. That meant they went somewhere in the city. "Computer," he spoke, "check tracking signal."

Immediately a window opened, revealing a map of Gotham, specifically the area where he found the shack. A red dot was flashing over and over on the location, indicating the van had yet to leave. Since he hadn't notified Gordon of his discovery, the vigilante was counting on another kidnapping to occur, allowing him to follow the kidnappers to where they took Alice. While it was likely the girl wasn't there anymore, it would still give him a starting point of where she went. It wasn't his first option, but it was his best.

A sigh blew past his lips. It was about now Batman would be hearing a greeting, witty remark, or a question. Unfortunately, there was no one else around to say those familiar words now. It didn't happen very much, but every so often the dark-clad man would get the yearning to hear another's voice, be it Alfred or Zatanna. Considering where the former was, it left him with the latter who was no longer around.

Last he recalled, Zatanna had reformed her troupe and was on tour, currently somewhere in the Midwest he thought. Apparently the magician had decided to include real magic into her show and it was quickly becoming a very popular attraction. He was happy for her that she was doing so well. In fact, there was a performance scheduled for Gotham sometime next year, or at least that's what Zatanna's email had mentioned. She was obviously hinting for his presence there, something he wasn't going to deny depending on how Gotham was at the time. He really needed to get some tickets soon so he'd stop getting her occasional spam mail about it.

Then again, considering the new company she kept with her, perhaps it was best if he kept his distance. He had heard rumors of a British detective with a perchance for the mystical arts and very cheap whiskey. That was one thing he couldn't help but scratch his head about.

Again he sighed, but this time it was more out of annoyance than anything. Slipping into personal issues during the middle of an investigation was a bad idea. He needed to get his head straight and focus on what was more important. For instance, his search into the shoe prints. Checking on the analysis, he found one pair had been identified: the Nike set. Once more he began to type on the keyboard, bringing up the company's sales logs for the last few years.

"Find...shoe...product...code…" the vigilante murmured as he typed in the command. In seconds he had the code. "Cross-reference and remove all purchases that don't match."

Immediately, the millions of Nike shoe purchases dramatically dropped into the thousands. "Computer, identify all purchases with their means of purchase and cross-reference them for credit cards belonging to Theodore Knight," the vigilante ordered.

The screen began to flash as it complied, moments later returning a reply that Batman did not like. "No match," he growled in annoyance. "Computer: same analysis for Deever Tweed." Again he watched as the computer did it work, once more returning the same result.

So, the Nikes belonged to the third man. The Dark Knight made a mental note of that before he pulled out the sales logs for Adidas. "Computer: perform same analysis for Knight and Tweed."

This task took longer than the previous one due to the sheer amount of information the computer was going through. However, when it was done, the answer remained the same: no match. Damn it, it seemed the shoes were a dead end. Either the shoes were older than he suspected, or these men didn't purchase the shoes. Considering Knight's profile, it was less likely he would have bought an ordinary tennis shoe. There was also more shoe prints in the grime, ones with less distinguishable designs. It was more likely Knight and this Tweed were wearing those considering the lack of traceable purchases.

But if that were the case, that meant there were more than just three abductors—a very disturbing thought. It made Batman scowl at just thinking of it. Then again, these sort of operations were rarely small in number. It took whole organizations to kidnap, store, and ship out victims.

For now, it seemed his best option was following the van. While there was no telling how long it would be before the kidnappers returned to the shack, there was no way they could move without him knowing. The tracer would alert the vigilante the moment the vehicle moved and no matter where in the city he was, he would be able to find it and follow.

A sharp _ping!_ went off, drawing the dark-clad man's attention. The window containing the map of Gotham—and subsequently the tracer device—took over the screen. No longer was the flashing dot in the building, having moved onto the street and heading north.

Immediately, Batman was on his feet, his palm pilot in hand as he strode towards the car. His thumb typing onto several keys, soon the same map on his computer was on his device, showing the same picture of Gotham with the moving tracer.

Honestly, he hadn't expected movement this soon; however, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the kidnappers were on the move, then they were most likely on the prowl for a new victim. Fortunately they were heading to the north side of Gotham, so that decreased the distance and time he had to reach them.

Shoving the palm pilot back into his belt, the vigilante reached his car, what everyone in Gotham seemed to refer to as the Batmobile now. Leaping into the driver's seat, the canopy sliding overhead until it closed, Batman turned on the car, hearing the engine revving to life. Grabbing the gear shift and throwing it into Drive, he pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator, causing the wheels to squeal as they spun in place for a brief moment before the car shot into the tunnel before it.

The hunt for Alice Simmons was on.

* * *

With an enrage cry, Huntress swung her bo-staff through the air, slamming it against the side of an armed goon's face. His head snapped to a side as he was thrown off his feet, crashing to the ground in a heap. Holding her staff tightly, the purple-clad vigilante strolled right up to the man as he began to push himself up off the ground. Pulling her leg back casually, she then swung it forward, kicking the thug in the head and knocking him out cold.

Staring coldly at her unconscious foe, Huntress then looked up, giving a cursory glance at her surroundings before she called out, "All clear here."

She was standing in the middle of a warehouse, large wooden crates stacked on top of each other forming a makeshift maze. It was under the management of a crime family, the McKillens. Unlike your usual patriarchal mob family, this one was run by a pair of twin sisters, both just as cruel and destructive as Falcone, Maroni, or even Sionis at their respective peaks. They were Irish, so they were chalk-full of Irish punks looking to make Gotham another slice of old-country Dublin or new-world Boston. Either way, Huntress wasn't in the mood for drunken Irish folk and their moronic accents.

Yeah, she didn't like the Irish. Everyone had someone else they despised and for her it happened to be ale-guzzling, whiskey-belching leprechauns. Stupid bastards.

A shrill scream rang out and an Irish gangster came crashing down on top of a wooden crate next to the dark-haired woman, bouncing off of it and landing hard on the floor. Falling into a defensive stance, the end of her bo-staff pointing towards the thug, Huntress stared him down until she was sure he wasn't getting back up.

That was when a blonde woman landed on the crate the goon had bounced off of, crouching low in her fishnet stockings. "That's clear for me too," Black Canary said cheekily, her gloved hands coming to rest on her knees.

 _Show off,_ Huntress groused. It wasn't surprising that Black Canary was in a good mood; this was her bust, so to speak. She had done all of the planning as to how they were breaking in, taking out the hired muscle, and making another example of just why the McKillens needed to go back under the rock they crawled out from under. Huntress wasn't going to lie, BC's plans were working like clockwork, but it did annoy her a tad that the blonde was encroaching on her turf, namely being the leader of their trio.

Speaking of which…

Relaxing her coiled muscles as she dropped the end of her staff to the floor, the third member of their group, the Asian called Katana, came strolling down the path the crates formed, sheathing her sword as she did so. "Finished," was all she said as she came to a stop next to the purple-clad vigilante.

"Looks like you were right," Huntress grumbled as she looked to Black Canary, who was jumping off the box she stood on to join the two women on the ground. "You knew these patrols."

"It's just like the other busts we had," the blonde woman waved off, though the corner of her mouth was twitching up in amusement. "These guys have a set pattern they follow and once we figure out what it is, we can use it against them."

"More impressive is that the Irish can actually follow a plan."

"And this is why you aren't allowed to make up the strategy,"' Black Canary said, not malicious as much as teasing. "Not sure why you hate these guys like you do, but keep a lid on it, will ya?"

Huntress leveled the blonde with a look, one of her eyebrows raising up. "You ever been to a bar and some drunk douche bag walks up to you and tries to manhandling you?"

"Yeah, every time we go out."

"Just imagine they're Irish and they throw out insults about your mother every other sentence."

"Sounds like Boston if you ask me."

"Plan was good," Katana interrupted. "We were in full control tonight."

"You make it sound like we're never in control," Huntress pointed out.

"We weren't," the Asian woman replied succinctly. "Happens when plan only to barge through front door and hit people."

The dark-haired woman scowled. She couldn't help but get the feeling that was a jab at her expense. "You make it sound like a bad thing," she growled threateningly.

"There is time and place for such tactics; this is not one of them."

It wasn't all that long ago that Huntress remembered Katana backing up her plans for taking out the dredges of Gotham. Now though, it seemed the sword-wielding woman was backing Black Canary more and more and Huntress had to admit she didn't like it too much. She was the leader here, she had the most experience between them. She hadn't led them astray yet!

So why was it she felt she was being pushed aside?

"You use crossbow?" Katana suddenly asked.

The purple-clad woman couldn't help but seize up at that. That was a question that was routinely popping up, one she was getting rather sick of. During the Sionis bust last year, they had thrown themselves into the thick of battle and suddenly found themselves in over their heads. During the fight, Huntress had been given a clear shot at Sionis and took it, only for her bolt to bounce off the guy's mask. Apparently Katana and Black Canary saw this and had become very uncomfortable with her use of the crossbow.

Restricting her use of it had helped soothe matters initially; but then came a time where the purple-clad vigilante had to use it and the other two Birds went all mental on her. They never had a problem with her choice in weapon before, so why the hell now? Well, as the months rolled by, Huntress used it less and less, just so their cohesive unit stayed cohesive. Yet those two never let the subject drop and it was starting to piss the dark-haired woman off.

"No, I didn't," she snapped, letting her anger seep into her words.

"Now, now, let's not get pissy," Black Canary said, jumping in to stall whatever pending fight was coming. Sometimes Huntress wished the blonde wouldn't; things like this needed to come to a head and be aired out. "We still have work to do here."

Well, that was a legit point. "Tsk," the dark-haired woman responded, flicking the small switch on her staff, which caused the ends to contract inward. Placing the weapon behind her back, Huntress turned and began to walk to a nearby crate. "Got a crowbar handy?" she called back.

That was when Katana came up beside her, the two standing in front of the box. Like a cobra, she suddenly lashed out with her hand, fingers curled and palm jutting out. She crouched low as she slammed her palm against the side of the crate, the wood snapping and breaking instantly. Just as sudden as she had struck, Katana had pulled her hand back, stepping to a side as guns began to pour out of the crate.

Jumping out of the way, Huntress stared at the flow of firearms as they piled onto the floor. When the avalanche stopped, she looked up to her Asian counterpart and said, "One day you're going to have to show me how you do that."

Katana returned with a small smile, "One day."

"So we have a lot of guns," Black Canary spoke, approaching the two as she came to a stop in front of the mess. "Is anyone thinking there are a hell of a lot more weapons here than this?"

"Oh yeah," Huntress agreed. "So how do you want to do this, General BC? Destroy the goods or call it in?"

Black Canary eyed the guns before she replied, "Call it in. It won't bring down the McKillens, but it'll definitely make things uncomfortable for them. After all, they're the only ones in town with Irish muscle."

"You do the honors." With that, Huntress turned away and began walking towards a corner of the warehouse, the place where they had initially entered the building. As far as she was concerned, the bust was over.

What wasn't was the growing tension. Huntress wasn't sure when they needed to address this, but a boiling point was coming—it always did.

Thing was, in a way, she couldn't blame her partners. When she had shot Sionis, it was in the heat of battle, no way or chance to second-guess or come up with a better alternative. Ever since that moment though, the dark-haired woman found herself...tempted...to do it again. The first time had alarmed her so much, she refused to bring her crossbow out for a month. Though she liked to think that it was only part of her team-approved abstinence, there was a part of her that was scared—scared that she wanted to go through with it.

So okay, she made a big deal that the Birds were harping on her, taking the choice from her. Despite her irritation, she was glad on some level that they kept her honest. The choice to permanently end a life was seductive, thrilling, and terrible all rolled into one. It went beyond her normal urge to cause as much collateral damage to the punks that filled the streets with their drugs and guns and despicable behavior. She had been warned about her aggressive behavior a long time ago and she had felt the same gnawing annoyance she was feeling towards Black Canary and Katana now.

Perhaps this was why she was warned. _He_ knew this was the logical extension of her rage and wanted to keep her from it. And she...she had been too caught up to realize it. It was like an Abyss scenario, with her peering in to see what lay in its depths and becoming frightened at what stared back.

Huntress sighed. What she wouldn't give to go back and change that moment.

Still, what's done was done and there was no changing it. She had to live with it and the fallout, something her comrades couldn't understand. Too bad she didn't have her own Bat-signal like the GCPD—maybe _he_ could help her through this.

This time she snorted. And pigs would fly too.

* * *

It had started out as a quiet night.

Vigils from rooftops, leaps across alleyways, and the sounds of footsteps were the highlights so far. Batgirl took the left flank, keeping her eyes peeled and her ears open for any signs of criminal activity. Pretty much standard stuff.

The three of them—her, Nightwing, and Robin—were the self-styled Batclan. Over a year ago, close to two years if her numbers were correct, they had come together with a desire to do justice to the legacy Batman. All of them had been disgusted by how the city had fallen back into old habits after the supposed death of Batman. All of them had been in disbelief as random, everyday people dressed up like the vigilante and tried to deal justice too, though very poorly.

Now, maybe they had done the same thing. However, none of them even dared to name themselves or copy the Batman himself. They had come up with their own identities, and the rest was history.

Well, almost. Batman had come back. He had found out who they were. And he hadn't approved of it.

They had pretty much agreed that they weren't going to let his disapproval hold them back from trying to protect the city they loved. Someone needed to, anyway. Batgirl herself felt the responsibility more so than the others. Protecting Gotham was kinda the family business, you could say.

The night soon changed when they came across a textbook mugging. Having stopped to keep watch on the streets below, Robin had been the one to spot the lonely woman strolling her way, either to home or to other places. Neither was clear. Naturally, because of her vulnerability, they had kept an eye on her. Pretty much standard stuff.

Good thing they had. They weren't far away when she was snatched and dragged off the streets and into your generic dark alley. If the situation wasn't so serious, she would have rolled her eyes at the cliche. Still, they had a job to do.

Thus, they had made their way to the alley. They stopped only long enough to get a good look at the scene from above. Alright, there were three of them, one holding the poor woman in a bear hug, two across from her and her captor. One was wearing a cap on his head, giggling like an idiot. Another was showing off with a butterfly knife, holding onto one half of the handle and trying flicking it around to open it. Probably saw someone do that in a movie and wanted to try it out.

The woman was in whimpering mode right now, rightfully scared shitless. Well, Batgirl had had enough of that. Time to make like heroes and save the day. The three of them shared a look, making an...informal plan of sorts. Since there was three of them down there, it was one apiece.

Nightwing dived in first, being the muscle of the group. She and Robin soon followed, herself quickly pulling out a grappling hook and rope and using that to descend. She had been halfway down when Nightwing struck butterfly knife man, landing a powerful kick into the man's chest in midair. She was just over the man holding the terrified woman when Robin landed on the no-longer-giggling man's shoulders, bringing both of his bent elbows down on the top of his capped head.

Her turn now. With two being taken care of, the redhead was able to focus solely on her target. Taking a page out of Robin's book, she made her landing on the man's shoulders. Instead of bringing down elbows, she wrapped her legs around his neck, slipping her lower legs between his body and the woman's as best as she could. Gripping the rope in her hands tightly, she pulled up with all her strength, picking him up off the asphalt.

Being suddenly yanked up, the man released the poor woman to grab at her legs. She squeezed harder against his throat, making it harder for him to breathe for a few seconds. Then, granting his wish to stop hanging in the air, she let go of the rope. He landed on his feet, but his balance was off. Add to the fact that her weight was making him more top heavy, he ended up falling to his knees, managing to stop himself from going face first into the crud-covered ground somehow.

Batgirl was already fixing to change that. As he reached out with his arms to catch himself, she unwrapped her legs from around his neck and leaned back. As soon as her back was up against his, she stretched her legs as far as she could, raising her feet high up before bringing them down and slamming them into the back of his head.

Not expecting it, his face now made friends with the cement, his arms giving in and letting the rest of him flatten against the pavement. She gave and extra rap with her feet to be sure that he was out.

There, that should do it.

Still hearing the sounds of a struggle, she looked towards the frightened who was staring at her, of all of them, she wasn't quite sure which it was. "Get out of here," she told the woman. "Go home, get somewhere safe, and call the police."

The woman nodded her head, practically trembling. Without waiting to see if she would follow her instructions, Batgirl turned her attention back to the others. What she found was Nightwing tag-teaming with Robin to give the former giggling man a reason to need have his jaw wired shut. Yeah, yeah he was down—and out.

Nightwing must be getting better with taking guys out. This must be a record for how quickly he was—wait, hold on a minute. Looks like the guy with the butterfly knife had only been laying on the ground for show. He was suddenly up on his feet, trying to make a run for it further down the alley.

"Got a runner!" she called out from a place on the unconscious man she was practically sitting on.

"Aw crap," she heard Nightwing grumble as he adjust his hold on one of his police-issued night sticks. It was something that had been appropriated from the GCPD for their late night activities, something the older male had been using with more and more efficiency as of late. With some force behind it, he threw the blunt weapon like a missile, the manufactured stick racing through the air until it struck the fleeing would-be rapist between his shoulder blades.

And down he went. Best to make sure his lights were put out as well.

Jogging down the alleyway, her partners following after her, she found that Nightwing's mark was still in the land of the living, groaning in pain. Wow, he must really be hurt, the poor baby. Whatever should she do? Should she help him, put him out of his pain and give him sweet unconsciousness? Or let him suffer it out since he was a big, strong man? Decisions, decisions.

"Let me take care of that," Nightwing said, taking the decision out of her hands. With his foot, he rolled the man onto his side. Kneeling down, Nightwing put the guy out of his misery with a strong punch to the side of his head, causing his skull to collided with the pavement for additional damage. "Sorry about that. Thought I took him out with that kick."

"Sloppy," Robin commented. "Losing your edge already?"

"You wish," Nightwing retorted.

Yep, some post-fight banter. Something to liven up the night. Pretty much standard stuff.

Looking up, Batgirl noticed that they were in front of an intersecting alleyway. Had their man turned into it a second earlier, he would have missed Nightwing's night stick. Then again, it wasn't an obvious escape route with all the garbage placed in front of it and...and…

...were her eyes deceiving her or was that…?

"Right, Batgirl? Batgirl?" Robin waved his hand in front of her eyes. "Earth to Batgirl. You there?"

"Look," she stated, not taking her eyes off the sight before her.

"Look at what—oh. Is that what...I think it is?" Sounded like Robin was having a little trouble getting his words out there.

"I think that's a body," Nightwing said, his voice quiet.

That pretty much cinched it. She hadn't been imagining it. Moving away from the unconscious man Nightwing had taken out, she stepped over the trash, and into the new alley. She didn't go much further as now she was getting a better look at this area and found that there was quite a bit of dried blood all over the place.

With a father who was the commissioner and being around real life detectives, Batgirl knew that she needed to be careful here. This was a crime scene here and her standing in it was contaminating it.

"Be careful," she instructed as Robin entered the scene. "We don't want to disturb anything."

"What happened here?" Robin asked quietly, eyes focused on the body.

That was the question. Her nose was starting to register the smell now and it was awful. It was a wonder she hadn't been detecting it earlier.

That led her back to the body, if you could still call it that. Could it be said that it was sitting up against the brick wall? Legs sprawled outwards from the torso, covered in blood soaked pants. An arm was resting on a leg, though there was something odd about it. Her eyes trailing up and down the arm, it hit her belatedly that the hand was missing, severed off at the wrist.

Lifting her gaze upwards, she had to speed up her observation because the stomach area was a _mess_. It looked like the insides were pouring out—no, those _were_ the insides! Intestines primarily, enough to make her turn green and her stomach queasy.

If she thought moving up further was going to be better, that was a mistake. While the entire torso that wasn't gushing out internal organs was soaked in blood, the head was...was…

The head looked like it was caved in, as if someone had taken an ice cream scooper and scooped out everything. What made it worse was the lower jaw was still there, barely hanging, but anything like a face, or a brain was gone, completely gone.

Oh no. She felt like she was going to lose her dinner here. She really was about to. Movement at her side was enough to distract her, though any relief she might have felt was torn to shreds once she realized that Robin was stepping closer to the corpse.

"Don't touch anything!" she ordered. "You're going to contaminate it!"

Robin's reply was anything but reassuring. "I think it's a bit late for that. There's maggots."

She did not need that visual confirmed.

"I think we need to get out here and call the police," Nightwing stated, taking charge. "Who knows how long that's been there."

"His hands are gone." Robin was thoroughly looking over the body. "He doesn't have a face. No teeth."

"Robin!" Nightwing reprimanded.

"Listen!" Robin insisted. "There's nothing here to identify him! No face, no fingerprints, nothing."

"Robin, none of us here are qualified to make any...whatever they're called about murder scenes. We need to let the cops handle it. We're out of our depths on this one," Nightwing asserted. "Let them handle it. We need to go— _now_."

Robin looked as if he was going to argue, but something stopped him. Maybe it had to do with him looking straight at her, or maybe Nightwing was getting through to him. Nodding reluctantly, he moved away from the body.

Moving away from it, that was sounding such a good idea more and more by the minute.

However, she had this...this feeling that this wasn't going to be the end of it.

Not with the way Robin kept looking back at it.


	3. The Duchess

Tim Drake wasn't a person who could let things go. This was especially true when his sense of right and wrong was offended.

That body from last night, and all the gruesome details that fit with it, certainly offended what he considered right and wrong. Hell, it went the extra mile too. Disturbing as all fuck. He knew that Batgirl and Nightwing, or Barbara and Dick when they were out of costume, were totally disturbed by the finding.

However, both of them gave Tim the impression that they wanted little to do with it. Sure, they had let the cops known about it, but only Tim had stuck around long enough to make sure that the body had been "discovered."

Barbara had decided to call it a night early, and Dick had made it a point to make sure she got home. Tim had mentioned that he was going to do the same, but that he didn't need an escort. Once they had separated, he had return to the crime scene.

It was lucky that he had had his phone on him. You never knew if you were going to get text messaged or called. However, it was the camera feature that was most important here. Before the cops had shown up, he had taken as many pictures as he could of the scene, being as careful as he could to not disturb anything. He couldn't leave behind anything, say a footprint for example, that might make him a suspect and let the perpetrator get away with literal murder.

Eventually, he got home late and uploaded the pictures onto his computer. There he studied the scene in as much detail as he could.

What he was able to figure out so far was that whoever had committed this crime, they had wanted to conceal the victim's identity. Without the hands, there were no fingerprints, or palm prints, to be had. Obviously, there was no face, so no facial identification. Though there was still the lower jaw, there were no teeth to be found, meaning dental records would not be helpful either.

With that said, who would do such a thing to a person? Carving out a head and disemboweling a person, that was taking things to an extreme. Usually, when such things happened, it was because the killer was a sadist and enjoyed mutilating a body because, well, sexual pleasure and power. Another reason for this was...a message. Someone was sending a message. But what was the message, and who was it for?

So far, the only other thing that Tim had been able to make out was that the murder happened in that alley. There was so much blood splatter that it was impossible that it happened somewhere else. Also, much of the blood had pooled under the body, so did that mean that this was a quick murder or a slow one?

Lastly, and this was a thought, Tim believed that after the act, the body had been placed in the position it had been found. It was sitting on the ground, the wall behind it used to prop the body up. Something about it didn't seem natural to the young man. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that the body had been _placed_ in that position deliberately.

That meant that the killer wanted the body found...even though it was placed in an alley that if you didn't know it was there, you'd miss. He'd had been standing only a few feet away from it and only discovered after Barbara did. Okay, now the "being deliberately placed there" theory was looking weak.

Tim leaned back in his seat, not taking his eyes off his computer screen where his photos of the crime scene remained. There was more to this, he knew it. If only he could—

He almost fell back when he heard something tap against the glass of his bedroom window. Staying still, he waited for another tap—there it was. He had a visitor. Taking a glance at his bedroom door, he stood up and made sure it was locked before heading to the window.

Sliding the window pane up, he was met with Dick—ahem, Nightwing. Yeah, that tree next to the house was very convenient when it came to sneaking out. Or in. Of course, Nightwing was crouched on the nearest tree branch with the kind of balance that made Tim jealous. Must be because of the circus life he once lived.

"Hey, how you holding up?" Nightwing asked.

"Any reason you're not on a phone? It'd be more convenient," Tim replied.

"This is something I think needs to be in person. You never know who might be listening."

And that was a reference to a colleague of theirs who wanted nothing to do with him. A better way of putting it would be he wanted them off the streets as much as he wanted the crooks off.

"I'm doing good. Why? Something wrong with Barbara?" Because what else could it be?

"She's putting up a strong front, but I think it got to her a bit," was his answer. And there it was, the reason for this visit. "I don't think she's in the condition yet to be out tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

"I don't know what to tell you," he said, purposefully not using any name. "To be honest, I was kinda expecting to come across a dead body sooner. What we're doing, it comes with the territory. Think it might remind her too much of her dad's job?"

"I don't know, and just because it took us this long to find...something like that, it doesn't mean that we can't take the time to be taken back by it," Nightwing argued. "Don't think I didn't notice you looking at it. I bet you went back after we split."

Tim felt his body freeze and he swore at himself for it. What a big giveaway. From the way Nightwing was looking at him, he knew he hit the nail on the head. The younger man felt the need to explain himself all of a sudden. No, not explain, defend. He needed to defend his actions. Now.

"This is our first murder, Nightwing," he said quietly. "You think Batman would look away and not try to figure out who was responsible? What we saw, that was sick. Probably wasn't the asshole who did this first. There's someone on the loose and who knows who he'll go after next. We may not know who the dead guy was, but I want to find the one responsible and...at least get some justice out of this. It's not right."

"This isn't our thing," Nightwing retorted. "We're not detectives."

"No, we just beat people up. Is that all we're good for?" Tim snapped, feeling frustrated. "What's that going to amount to? We beat them up, they go to jail, then what? Is that all we're going to do? When I got together with you guys, I did it because I wanted to go after it all, not just the gangs, or the crime outfits, and whatever else there is. This murder, this...this is our chance here."

The older man looked puzzled. "What chance are you talking about?"

"Think about it. The high point of our crime fighting careers was Halloween 2.0. Something where we managed to do _something_. But then after that? The October 27th Attack? When the False Face Society tried to gas everyone? What did we do then? Nothing. Sure, we weren't ready, but there's always gonna be others out there." It was all coming out now. Tim couldn't stop himself. A whole year they had spent doing the same thing over and over again. Go out, find some bad people doing bad things, beat them down, and call the police. Do it over again. What was it really accomplishing? "It's like we were...are running in place. Going nowhere."

"And you think this will change that?" Nightwing's tone of voice held no disapproval or reproach. It was soft, inviting, and nonjudgmental.

"I don't know," Tim sighed, looking away from his older partner. "It's...I want...I want to do something that will matter, if only to me. Whoever was killed, they used to be someone. What if it's someone I know? Or could it had been someone close to me that that happened to? I need to know. I need to know that we aren't just jerking each other off and that we can make a difference."

"We have been making a difference," Nightwing stated. "I bet that woman we saved sure appreciate us helping her. I'm sure that every one we ever helped is grateful that we are out there, trying to do our best to make things better. But maybe you're right. Maybe we need to get out of our comfort zone."

Tim said nothing, only looking back at Nightwing, waiting for him finish what he was saying.

"You feel strongly about this, I get it. Maybe...maybe we can _try_ out what this is. See if handling something like murder is something we can do. Who knows, we might be good at it." He ended with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Then, he added, "I'll check in on Barbara, let her know what we're thinking about. Hopefully she'll help out, we'll see."

"I bet she'll help. Don't forget who her dad is," Tim joked.

"Yeah, well, you take it easy tonight. Tomorrow we'll go back and check out the crime scene, figure out if there's anything the cops might've missed. Might want to look into what they know while we're at it."

Left unsaid was how they were going to find out what the police knew. Tim didn't think that the boys in blue were going to hand over everything they knew to them because they wanted to help out.

For the time being, what mattered was that they were about to take a huge step in their crime-fighting careers. Their first murder, who knew where it was going to take them? Wherever it was, Tim was determined to find out, no matter what was at the end waiting for them.

* * *

The main objective of a good storyteller was to always tell a good story. The story itself could be meaningless just as long as it was presented with suspense, energy, and theatrics. Her first editor had told her that.

And to this day Vicki Vale believed in it, though only to a certain point. No amount of exaggeration on the storyteller's part could make a dog show any more interesting than it already wasn't. Thankfully, Gotham's #1 reporter didn't do those stories anymore. She didn't have to troll the streets for leads that bleed, or scuff her brand new shoes as she chased after tight-lipped cops.

She let the stories come to her.

Reclining back in her chair, the redhead played with a pen, twirling it in circles with her fingers. Lazily she stared at the bullpen as her fellow co-workers ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. That was normal for the Star and to be honest, Vale was getting bored with it. She had long since proven her status and talent and there just wasn't anything left to do except chill.

The thrill of the hunt wasn't thrilling anymore.

Suddenly, a middle-aged man came crashing into her desk, dropping a fat pile of pictures and a rather expensive camera onto the desktop. Boredly Vicki looked to Nick, her camera guy. Despite his tall, thin frame, he always looked out of breath and sunburned red from exertion. He had recently grown a mustache and a beard around his mouth, but all it made him look was old and creepy.

"You have to see this," Nick gasped as he pushed his photos to the redhead.

Vicki glanced down at the top picture. It was the top of a building with a couple of guys standing—lame. "Where is this?" she asked, not the least bit interested.

"That is the roof of the GCPD," the photographer answered, pointing to the top left corner of the pic. "As you can see…"

Vicki's eyes sharpened. Right where Nick was pointing was the round side of what had to be a skylight, the newest addition to the police station. Or as people around the city were calling it: the Bat Signal.

Unfortunately, Nick didn't get a good shot of it, so it could be anything right now. However, with that tidbit of information, Vicki looked to the two men and immediately recognized Commissioner Gordon and District Attorney Dent. They looked to be talking about something, which wasn't unusual. It was well-known the two men kept in contact with each other.

"So what's going on?" she inquired.

Instead of answering, Nick began shoving picture after picture off the top until he found the one he wanted. "This," he said with a note of pride in his voice.

Vicki's eyes widened at what she saw. Nick had the damn right to be freaking proud. Gordon and Dent weren't alone anymore; standing with them now was the Batman. How the Hell had Nick of all people snapped this shot?! It was widely known that the Dark Knight was damn near impossible to capture on film, not to mention that anyone that did get a shot soon found their film missing. A Batman picture was like the Holy Grail of photos.

And if Vicki wasn't mistaken, it looked as if the Bat, Gordon, and Dent were talking with each other. Already the redhead's reporter instincts were kicking in. It had been widely assumed that Gordon had a relationship with the city's vigilante, no small part due to her own work. This though, it looked as if those three men were actively meeting with each other, two of law enforcement's highest profile figures sanctioning an infamous vigilante.

Talk about your bleeding leads.

"Tell me you have copies," Vicki demanded at her photographer.

"Physical copies, digital copies, you name it, I got it," Nick replied eagerly. "I'm even opening a lock box at the bank to keep the original shots. No way am I losing these."

"You better," the redhead warned. "These sorts of pictures have a habit of disappearing and I'm going to want to use as many of them as I can. I can already smell a series from these alone."

That made the middle-aged man drop his jaw. "You're serious? A series? How?"

A small smile graced the woman's lips. Once more she leaned back into his chair as she looked up at the photographer. "What we have here is evidence that the Police Commissioner and the District Attorney are working with the Batman. That only is an article and I'm not even talking about digging into the extent of this relationship, how it began, and how it's benefiting the city. Believe me, there are so many angles and stories I can make off of this one picture alone."

"That's great!" Nick exclaimed excitedly. "What else can I—"

"Get more more copies of these pictures," Vicki interrupted him. "I want a room's worth of these photos and I don't care at all how you get them."

"Yes ma'am!" With that, Nick took off, rushing towards the elevators. Poor sap, he left his beautiful pictures and his camera behind. Idiot.

Whatever, she had more important things to worry about. She had a bombshell of a story sitting in her lap; she hadn't been kidding when she could turn it into a series either. This one picture alone was more incendiary than the one she took of Gordon shaking hands with Batman. She needed to get this story typed up as soon as possible and—

No, no she didn't. Vicki paused as she considered this. True this picture spoke incredible volumes, but what of context? For all she knew, the Batman approached them instead of the other way around. Or hell, they could've have just run into each other—even if the likelihood of that was nil.

As big of a story as this was, it was also a double-edged sword. If she wasn't careful enough, she could just as easily get cut. The redhead needed to do some research, pull on her strings in the GCPD and the DA's office. Vicki needed confirmation that this wasn't just some happenstance. If these meetings were regular occurrences, that would make the story that much more bigger.

Leaning forward in her chair, Vicki picked up the stack of photos and began rifling through them. As far as she could tell, the three men were just talking. Gordon and Dent had their hands stuffed into their trench coats and Batman was just a tall blob of darkness. Then the Batman left and the other two men hung around talking to each other.

The redhead couldn't help but analyze these photos. In order for these people not to have notice Nick, he had to have been some distance away, most likely using a long-range lens. It was grainy too in places, so Nick had to have his flash off, which allowed the lack of light to interfere with the clarity. In fact, because of that, Batman seemed to fade into the darkness of the photo.

Sort of poetic.

Feeling as if this was all she would glean from the pictures—for now—Vicki picked up her purse and opened it, shoving the photos into it and closing it. Standing up out of her chair, the redhead grabbed her phone and activated it, opening her contacts list and searching through it. She had some calls she needed to make, research so to speak. This wasn't going to be the biggest story she had ever done, but it was definitely going to be right up there in the Top Ten.

And for once, in the longest time, Vicki Vale could feel the growing thrill of the hunt.

* * *

The kidnappers were on the move.

Fortunately, Batman had managed to track the van down before the suspects had taken another victim. This would make the second time since last night, since the kidnappers hadn't taken anyone. An entire day had been spent keeping tabs on it, yet no one left the van aside from the second dark-haired man for food. A positive identification would have to wait for a more quieter moment considering he and his cohorts were on the hunt. Now, the white vehicle was parked on Sycamore facing east. The vigilante was on the building next to it, looking down on the van from the rooftop. There was a slight breeze ruffling his cape, but otherwise he was as still as the gargoyle he crouched next to.

The headlights were off, though the engine was running. Having scouted the van upon arrival, Batman had discovered through the windshield that Theodore Knight III was indeed the driver. The dark-haired man was currently in the passenger seat as well. There was also someone else in the van, sitting in the back. Unfortunately, it was too dark inside to get a positive identification and the binoculars could only do so much. So now he was waiting to see what these men were up to.

Suddenly, the headlights came on. That got the dark-clad man's attention; they were on the move. Slowly, the van pulled out from its side parking space and into the driving lane. Pulling back from his vantage point, Batman began running along the rooftop, leaping over an alleyway to land on the next building. The van wasn't moving very fast, but then it didn't need to to outrun a man on foot.

However, a glance up the street showed the Dark Knight that they would be slowing to a stop very soon. At the corner of Sycamore and Hartman stood a man in a suit, his arm raised above his head as he tried to hail a cab. Slowing to a stop at the corner of the building he was on, Batman watched as the van skidded to an abrupt stop next to the man, the side door sliding open.

That was when a large arm shot out from within the vehicle, grabbing the unsuspecting man by his arm. The man shouted as he was then hauled into the van, disappearing into its depths as the side door slammed shut. An instant later the van peeled off, taking a sharp turn left onto Hartman and disappearing from sight.

Pulling out his grapple, Batman fired it across the street, hearing it make contact with its anchor point before the line went taut. Hitting the retraction button, Batman soared off the roof, flying over the street until he landed on the building's roof edge. Disengaging the grapple claw as he took off running, the vigilante rushed towards the other side of the roof, coming up onto an alleyway.

Below him sat his car, which began to open the canopy. Dropping off the roof, Batman grabbed onto his cape and used it as a makeshift parachute, slowing his descent until he landed feet first on the car seat. Immediately dropping down into the seat, the canopy slid close as he grabbed the wheel, foot hitting the accelerator simultaneously as he moved the gear shift into Drive.

With a roar, the car raced forward, tires screeching as he made a sharp left and hauled ass down Hartman. The van wasn't anywhere in sight, unfortunately, but that was alright. Reaching a hand to the control panel, Batman began typing a few keys before a map appeared on a screen in front of the panel.

There were two dots on the screen, one red and the other blue. The red was of the van, which had changed streets while he had been getting into his car. It was currently heading north a block to the west. Glancing up, Batman saw an intersection coming up. Turning the wheel, the Batmobile swung to the left, pulling onto the new street and racing down it.

Another look to the screen showed the van had also taken a left, once more keeping a block between him and it. Pressing harder on the accelerator, the Batmobile dashed down the street, passing one intersection, then two. Reaching the third one, Batman then made a right, heading for the next intersection before taking a left on it.

As it turned out, he was gaining on the van. Just as he pulled onto the new street, he caught the tail end of the van taking a right on Boykin Avenue. Engine roaring as he hit the accelerator hard, Batman headed for the intersection before whipping around onto it.

And there it was, a block ahead of him. Slowing down on his speed, Batman began to cruise at a slower pace, letting the van pull ahead. The last thing he needed was for Knight to spot his rather recognizable car and try to outrun him. Now was the time to observe and follow.

Checking his surroundings, Batman frowned as he recognized Downtown Gotham. Why would Knight and his buddies head into the heart of the city? Something about this was wrong. While it matched Alice Simmons kidnapping, most criminals headed for the outskirts of the city, not into its heart. It was backwards, so to speak.

As if to confirm the strangeness of the move, the van suddenly made a turn, this time into a parking garage. Well, to be exact, it was a descending ramp into a parking garage. A look at the building it was for puzzled the vigilante even more. This was a high-rise apartment building where only the rich stayed—the Duchess. Why take a kidnapping victim to a high-rise?

"Autopilot, course five," Batman suddenly spoke. In response, the computer screen in the car dropped the image of the map, the monitor flashing for a couple seconds before a large 5 appeared. The canopy suddenly began to slide forward. Letting go of the wheel, Batman pulled himself to crouch on his seat again, feeling the car slow down. Launching himself up, he took a couple steps on the backside of his car, the canopy closing behind him before he dropped onto the street, and taking a few more steps to stabilize his inertia. That was when his car sped off, leaving him behind as it went to find another alleyway to park in.

Finding himself standing in front of the parking garage's entrance, Batman began walking through the threshold. Faintly he could hear the squealing of wheels as a vehicle made hard turns. Picking up his pace, he went to a small wall and looked over it, staring down the middle of the circling rampwell. The vigilante could just make out the van as it drove further down the ramp towards the bottom.

If Batman recalled right, there was an employee entrance at the bottom, much like it was in every underground parking garage. Obviously these men were hoping to use that entrance to go undetected.

Not that they would get the chance this time.

Hopping onto the wall, Batman stared down to the bottom of the circular ramp. There was a portion of the concrete road that was visible from where he stood and the van had to drive through to get to the employee entrance.

Taking a deep breath, Batman then stepped off the wall, using his cape to parachute him down once more, slowing his descending speed. The parking level flew by one by one, going faster as the longer he fell despite his efforts to keep his descent slow.

Two levels above the bottom, he released his hold and dropped the rest of the way down. And just as he planned, the van appeared right beneath him a moment later.

With a loud _CRASH!_ Batman landed on the roof of the van, just over the heads of the driver and passenger. The roof caved in from his landing, the windshield cracking and breaking from the force. Faintly the vigilante could make out cries of surprise from the van as it screeched to a halt.

Jumping off the roof, the dark-clad man twisted around in midair as he landed on the vehicle's hood, facing the broken windshield. Pulling both arms back, he let out a war cry as he sent both fists flying at the glass, breaking through it easily. As he leaned forward, his hand found the shirts of Knight and his friend, immediately causing him to grab hold of them. Letting out another yell, the vigilante pulled back simultaneously as he leaned backwards, forcing the two men out of their seats and through the broken windshield.

As pieces of shattered glass flew everywhere, Batman let go of the two screaming men as they went flying by him. Those cries came to a stop when they both landed on the pavement hard. Turning around, but remaining on the hood, Batman saw both men lying prone on the ground, neither one moving an inch to get up. It seemed they both hit their heads the moment they landed.

"Look out!" a voice suddenly cried out.

Spinning back around, the Dark Knight soon saw a giant fist flying at him from the van, slamming into his face and sending him flying off the van. He let out a surprised cry as he flew, his feet touching down first before he collapsed onto his back on the ground.

Damn, what the hell had that been? Gritting his teeth, the vigilante pushed himself back onto his feet, just in time for a large man to crawl out through the hole in what had formerly been the van's windshield. He was bald and muscular, dressed in red overalls and a sleeveless yellow shirt. "This won't do, not at all," the man said as he walked over the hood and then dropped off of it onto the ground. "You're making us late to the party."

Despite his size and musculature, the man had a light, crisp voice. "And what party is that?" the Dark Knight growled, lowering his body into a defensive posture.

"Why, the one for Alice of course."

 _Alice_. Batman's eyes narrowed. "What did you do to Alice Simmons?" he barked at the larger man.

"I have done nothing to Alice," the man replied. "I only gave her directions."

"And where would that be?"

"To the party."

That answer only made the vigilante deepen his scowl. "Enough games," he seethed. "Tell me where this 'party' is or get ready for a mouthful of broken teeth."

This made the man glare. "Only the invited can go to the party—Tweedledee will make sure of that."

That was when Tweedledee charged at him. Arms raised up and forward, the man let out a furious roar as he ran at the Dark Knight. At the same time, Batman went running at his foe as well; however, at the last moment he dropped to the ground, sliding as he did so with both legs extended out. His feet collided with Tweedledee's feet, tripping him as the larger man went stumbling forward until he fell onto the ground.

Quickly, Batman shot back onto his feet, turning around before leaping up into the air. He came right down on Tweedledee, ramming his knees into the bald man's back, making him cry out in pain. With both fists held high over his head, the dark-clad man swung them down, slamming them on top of Tweedledee's head and forcing his face to bash against the pavement.

Surprisingly, the large man didn't move after that, his body going limp. For a moment Batman thought he was playing possum until he noticed Tweedledee's deep, even breaths. Hmm, he hadn't meant to knock the guy out so quickly.

Tweedledee...wonder where Tweedledum was.

Shaking his head, Batman refocused himself. Now wasn't the time to go over book characters; he needed answers as to where Alice Simmons was.

Speaking of which, there was another kidnappee here. Getting off of Tweedledee's prone form, Batman then strode towards the van, heading right for the side door. Grabbing the handle, he pulled on it and slid the door open, revealing the suited man from earlier, his hands tied together.

"Thank God you're here," the man breathed out in relief. "These people are crazy I tell ya!"

"Crazy how?" Batman couldn't help but ask.

"That big guy that grabbed me, all he kept talking about was some tea party and I was invited. You gotta believe me, I have no interest in tea. I don't even like the stuff! I—"

Tea party, Alice, Tweedledee—this wasn't just coincidence. "Did he call you anything?" the vigilante demanded, interrupting the man's spiel.

"I have no clue! Something about playing cards and a queen, honest!"

Staring at the man for a moment, Batman then leaned into the van, grabbing the rope around the man's hand. With his other hand, he reached to his belt and pulled out a knife. It took a few second for him to cut through the rope and the moment he did, the man began rubbing his raw wrists.

"You're in a parking garage on 73rd Street," Batman told him. "Get to street level and call the GCPD. Tell them what happened and to bring everyone they can to this address."

"Yes, yes! Anything!" The man then scrambled out of the van and began running up the ramp towards the street. Watching him for a moment, Batman began to turn away when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

On the ground over by Knight and his friend, there was something thin and white. Walking towards it, the vigilante knelt down and picked it up. Studying it, he saw that it looked like a playing card the numbers 10/6 on one side. Flipping it over and back, the dark-clad man couldn't make heads or tails of it. Glancing to Knight and then the other man, he was quick to note there was another 10/6 card against the unknown man's head, held there by a headband. Looking to Knight, there was also a headband around his head, though the card was missing.

Standing up, he then placed the card in a pouch on his belt. There would be time later to analyze the card. For now he needed to find out why these men were heading to this building.

Turning around, Batman scanned the area before looking in the direction the van was going. Up ahead was a cement dock with a metal rolling door atop of it. Next to the door was a normal wooden one. Cape enveloping him, the vigilante glided across the floor until he reached the dock, jumping up on it. Finding himself right in front of the wooden door, he grabbed the door knob and turned it, discovering the door to be open as he pushed it in. Entering, the dark-clad man found himself in a storage room, filled with all sorts of boxes and packages. On closer inspection, most of the boxes were filled with toiletries, such as toilet paper, soap, and towels. Seemed that this was where housekeeping kept all of its inventory.

Spotting a door at the other end of the room, the vigilante made to walk towards it. However, the moment he passed by one of the shelves, movement caught his eyes, forcing him to duck. Overhead, something large flew above him and slammed into the metal bars of the shelves.

Diving into a roll, Batman put some distance between him and his mysterious attack, ending up on his feet as he held a hand up and behind him, a bat-shaped shuriken held at the ready. Facing his attacker, he nearly did a double-take as Tweedledee glared at him, a wooden baseball bat clutched firmly in his hands.

"You hurt Dee!" Tweedledee screamed as he began stomping towards the vigilante. "Now Dum hurt you!"

Oh great, so this was Tweedledum. Of course this couldn't be as simple as strolling right on in and taking the girl back.

With an enraged roar, Tweedledum charged at him, drawing his bat back, ready to swing it again. Instantly, Batman threw his shuriken, watching it spin through the air at his foe. In response, the large man swung the bat, knocking the projectile out of the air.

Launching himself forward, the vigilante rushed at Tweedledum, leaping off the ground and swinging his fist, embedding it in the man's face. The blow knocked the bald man off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground on his back.

However, his foe was quick to recover, not to mention still holding onto the bat. Gnashing his teeth as he quickly climbed back to his feet, the wooden bat bouncing off the ground as he swung it haphazardly around, Tweedledum came charging again, finally drawing the blunt weapon back.

Batman held his ground until the last second, jerking backwards as the bald man took a swing and dodging the blow. That didn't stop Tweedledum from doing a backswing with the bat, which the vigilante ducked and leaned towards his right, keeping low. Twisting his body, he drew back his leg and swung it, kicking out the larger man's knee and making him cry out as he immediately dropped to the ground, catching himself as he landed with one knee and both hands pressing onto the floor.

The clanging of the bat on the ground was an added bonus.

Still moving, Batman got behind the hulking bald man, clasping his hands together and holding them above his head. Swinging them down, he delivered a jackhammer blow to the back of Tweedledum's head, a choked gasp coming from the man before he completely collapsed to the ground. Standing still, the Dark Knight stared at the fallen man for several moments, waiting for any surprise move from his opponent. When none came, he finally relaxed. He hadn't been gentle with the brute, so he shouldn't be much trouble.

Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and knelt down. Clasping the cuffs around Tweedledum's wrists, he gave them a good yank to make sure they were securely on before he stood and made his way out of the room. No since in taking any chances if Tweedledum was playing possum.

Leaving the room, Batman found himself entering a hallway. It was a plain-looking corridor bathed in bright lights from hanging lamps. Walking down the hall, he couldn't help but notice closed doors to his left at even intervals, not to mention the large set of doubles doors at the end. This must be where the employees did behind the scenes work, to keep this building running.

Suddenly, a door opened a couple thresholds down, causing the vigilante to dart towards the nearest door. Pressing his back against the wooden surface as much he could to minimize his presence, that action turned out to be for naught as a couple men appeared, heading towards the set of double doors. Though neither spotted the dark-clad man, Batman couldn't help but notice the odd clothes they were wearing—specifically, they were dressed like playing cards, one diamonds, the other spades. With their matching boots, they stomped towards the double doors, pushing it open with their gloved hands.

Quickly, Batman gave chase, keeping as quiet as he could until he reached the set of doors, gently pushing them open ajar. Peeking through the crack, he discovered another plain-looking room, though this one hand a set of elevators, which the playing card men stood in front of, their profile to the vigilante. This gave him a great view of matching 10/6 cards stuck to their red or black helmets.

Keeping still, Batman waited for the two men to board an elevator, which they did once the elevator doors slid open. Once they closed, the vigilante pushed open his own door, striding over to the elevator doors and stopped. Looking up, he saw a metal semi-circle, the numbers B3, B2, B1, and one through twelve reading from left to right along the arc. An arrow slowly moved up the numbers, never stopping until they reached ten.

The dark-clad man, however, didn't move, continuing to stare at the arrow. He wanted to make sure that was indeed the floor those two men had gotten off of and the best way to find that out was to wait to see what the elevator did next. If it immediately started going down, then that was his floor; yet, if it began to move up again, it was likely there was a quick stop and the card-dressed men were going to another floor.

As it turned out, the elevator didn't budge from ten. Batman waited there for a couple minutes before he came to the conclusion that the tenth floor was his destination. Hitting the up button on the wall, he watched as the arrow began to descend until it reached B3. With a _ding_ , the elevator doors opened and the vigilante entered the steel box. Hitting the 10 button, he then waited for the doors to close and the sudden rising of the elevator.

It took a little bit, but eventually he heard another _ding_ when he arrived on the tenth floor. Slowly the door opened and Batman stepped out, only to come to an immediate stop.

Batman could scarcely believe his eyes. In fact, he had to blinked them rapidly to make sure he wasn't seeing things. And yet, he wasn't mistaken. What should have been neatly organized apartments were no longer such. Everything was radically different, altered to fit what the vigilante suspected was a sick mind.

To be sure, he wasn't in Gotham anymore.


	4. Up The Rabbit Hole

The last time Bruce Wayne had been at the Duchess, it was for a party hosted by one of the high-rise's tenants, who exactly was long forgotten by him. Still, the upper-floors looked nothing like they did now.

What was once a hallway that led to a penthouse suite was replaced with crude-looking trees, bizarre-colored foliage and flowers, and enlarged mushrooms. There was even a dirt path framed with grass turf on the floor. For the first time in a long time, the Batman was stumped. How did all of this get here? How was it made? And how did it get built without anyone knowing?

Now _there_ was a question. Considering the people he knew that lived here, someone would've reported something this strange. Narrowing his eyes, Batman strode out of the elevator, moments before the doors slowly slid shut behind him. Approaching one of the trees, the vigilante inspected it before he came to realize they were built. He could pick out boards and nails, screws, and bolts. No wonder they appeared crude in appearance, zigzagging at slight angles.

Unfortunately, this just added to the mystery before him. A construction project of this size and scope required a lot of materials, materials that would have been observed and reported; yet, there had never been so much as a complaint filed with the GCPD.

Before he could ponder this further, the sound of snapping wood caught his ear. Spinning around, the Dark Knight saw a blur rush passed him.

"I'm late, I'm late! For a very important date! No time to say hello, goodbye! I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!"

It was pure instinct that led Batman to reach to his belt and pull out a bola. With practiced ease, he waved his arm in circles before he sent the bola flying after the fleeing blur. The cables wrapped around its target, pinning its arms to its side and legs together. A surprised cry rang out before the thing collapsed to the ground tied up.

Walking slowly, the vigilante approached his prey. The closer he got, the more he was able to discern a full-body white rabbit suit—a strange get-up to be sure. Kneeling down, the dark-clad man pushed the white rabbit over, rolling him onto his back. Just the touch of the suit told him this was a costume, most likely bought from a costume store or a retailer.

Since the rabbit suit covered the man, the only thing visible of him was his face—his young, most likely adolescent face. And he looked very frantic at the moment.

"I'm late!" he cried out, terror twisting his face with terror. "Please! Let me go!"

Late, late, late—wasn't that what the White Rabbit always said? Now that he thought about it, the strangeness of this place was eerily similar to Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland...was Alice Simmons involved with this? The connection was too strong to be coincidence.

Because he had his hand pressed on the bunny man, he felt him begin to thrash. "Stop," he commanded, his voice low and threatening.

Immediately the White Rabbit went still, eyes wide with fear. "You don't understand, I have to go! I must go or it'll be my head!"

Head...off with his head. He must be off to see the Queen of Hearts, assuming she was here. He didn't have time for that. "Where's Alice Simmons?" he demanded.

"Alice? I know no Alice," the rabbit answered before he began to squirm again. "Late, I'm late!"

In response, Batman leaned closer, his white lens boring into the rabbit man, which caused him to freeze. "I'm _not_ in the mood for games," he growled. "Alice Simmons, 16 year old girl, where is she?"

"I-I-I," the White Rabbit stammered. "I don't know, I really don't. There are not many things I know, but of the things I do, they aren't of her...it...late...late...I'm late!"

Hmm, the direct approach wasn't working. Considering that this man was clearly not in his right mind, perhaps he needed to use that. "Who would know about her?" he asked, gentling his voice.

"Not me, not me! I only know what the Queen tells me to know! Oh, she will have my head!"

"The Queen." Of Hearts perhaps? "Can you tell me where the Queen is?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I tell you!"

"Then who would?"

"I, I…" This made the White Rabbit pause as if he were recalling something. "The Carpenter...and the Walrus…" he murmured.

Batman leaned in closer. "And they would know where Alice is?" he pressed.

"I think so. They must know! They know where the Queen is! Oh, dear me, dear me, I'm late, I'm late!"

Quickly, Batman reached to his belt and pulled out a small pellet. Holding his breath, the dark-clad man held the pellet in front of the White Rabbit's face and broke it in his hand. A small cloud of gas erupted in the man's face, forcing him to breath it in. Immediately his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his panicked face went slack. A moment later his body slumped in its restraints and the White Rabbit was out for the count.

Staring down at the unconscious man for a second, Batman then looked up and his eyes followed the dirt path before him. Turning his head, he took note the trail went the other direction as well. There were only so many ways he could go in this place and it was very likely this dirt path circled around back to the elevator. Standing up, the Dark Knight began walking down the trail, going in the direction the White Rabbit had been running.

And up the rabbit's hole he went.

* * *

The path was a long, twisty one. At times it felt like it doubled-back on itself, went around in circles for no apparent reason, and then became a crossroad of multiple trails. Most became dead ends almost immediately while others turned out to be the same path. Whoever had made this place wasn't working on any sort of logic, that was for sure.

Batman heard the sound before he ever saw a person. The sound of a hammer knocking on wood perked up his ears and made him slow his pace. Shifting his body into a cautious, defensive pose, he crept further down the trail he was on until he found it opened into a cul-de-sac. Towards one side was a woman in overall shorts, kneeling on the ground beside another crudely-made tree. In her hand was a hammer and she swung it up and down, pounding it on a nail head over and over.

For several moments, Batman watched this, observing the woman methodically building this tree as she hammered in nail after nail, always reaching to a toolbelt at her waist for another nail. At one point she pushed up a ballcap to wipe away the sweat that had gathered on her forehead. The dark-clad man couldn't help but notice the 10/6 card that was attached to the side of the hat. So she was the one response for these constructs.

Glancing about the area, the vigilante found that they were alone—perfect. Reaching into his belt, he pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken and held it at the ready. The moment the woman stood up, seemingly satisfied with her work, he sent the projectile flying, watching it sail through the air and shoot right passed her side. With a dull _thud!_ the shuriken struck a standing tree in front of the woman, one end embedding itself in the wood.

A startled gasp escaped the woman's lips before she spun around, holding her hammer up in front of her for protection. Moving forward, Batman strode towards this carpenter, allowing her to see him in his approach. "I take it you're the Carpenter."

Despite his entrance, not once did the brown-haired woman seem afraid. Instead she just relaxed and turned away from him, seemingly interested in something else. "All play and no work makes Johnny a bad boy," she murmured. "So much to do, so much time to do it in."

Batman narrowed his eyes. The disinterest was puzzling enough, but the obsessiveness of the brown-haired woman's voice put him on alert. She was more consumed with her task than anything else, much like the White Rabbit.

As the Carpenter walked towards a nearby stack of lumber, Batman followed her at a sedate pace, coming to stand behind her as she knelt down on the ground. During his walk, she had picked up a large hand saw and had begun sawing into the wood, the tool's teeth digging over and over into the timber.

"We need to talk, Carpenter," he growled at her.

Once again, he was ignored. "Busy, busy, so much work to do. No time to sleep, nap, or snore. Must work, work, work."

Okay, he had just about enough of this. Grabbing the woman by the shoulder strap of her overalls, he jerked back and forced her away from her work, causing another surprised cry to ring out from her. Quickly, the vigilante put himself between the Carpenter and the stack of timber. "I have questions and you're going to answer them," he barked angrily. "How much time you want to waste is up to you."

"No!" the woman shouted as she scrambled back onto her feet and charged forward, not to fight him mind you, but to get back to her work. Instantly, Batman grabbed her roughly by the arm and forced his body in between her and the wood. "I have to build, I have to build!" she pleaded as she reached desperately toward her saw. "I have to save Wonderland!"

 _Save Wonderland?_ "And why do you have to save Wonderland," he asked."

That seemed to make the Carpenter relax, if only slightly. "Wonderland is forever growing, forever changing. By building it, it can go on forever—that is the only way. I have to, I must!"

"Is something trying to destroy Wonderland?"

"Only Wonderland can destroy Wonderland and never before ten after six."

More madness. Batman needed to get this conversation going in the way he wanted it to. "Have you seen Alice Simmons?"

The Carpenter's head perked up. "Alice?" The way her eyes lit up, Batman felt he found his first lead in this bizarre place. He was wrong. "The third oyster on the left. She was yummy."

It took the Dark Knight a minute before he caught the reference. Disgusted, he shoved the woman back, causing her to stumble a couple steps before completely losing her balance and falling to land on her ass. Quickly walking up to her, the vigilante knelt down to the ground and roughly shoved his hand against the woman's chest, forcing her to stay on the floor. "You have three seconds to tell me about Alice Simmons—don't even think of testing my patience."

For the first time, the Carpenter looked genuinely terrified—good. "I-I-I was walking on the beach side with the Walrus wh-when we came across some oysters. We only wanted to..."

Batman drew a fist back and held it right where the Carpenter could see, causing her to trail off. "The girl," he barked.

"Girl? There was no girl! Only me, the walrus, and—"

Before he could hear the woman's next rambled words, something slammed into the side of the vigilante's head, knocking him from his crouched stance and away from the Carpenter. Landing with his shoulder on the ground, he immediately went into a roll, ending back on his feet and facing his new attacker.

Standing before him was a giant of a man in a brown suit. He stepped over the Carpenter's prone form as he stomped towards the Dark Knight. Despite his size, the most notable thing about this newcomer was the metal mask across the lower half of his face, along with two large metal tusks descending from his face.

This must be the Walrus.

With a distorted roar, the Walrus stormed towards the vigilante, both hands balled into fists with one of them drawn back. Waiting until the last second, the large man threw a punch, to which Batman darted away from, dodging the blow. In response, the Walrus threw his other fist, once more causing the dark-clad man to backpedal right up to the surrounding trees and mushrooms.

However, when the next punch came, Batman ducked to his right, feeling the wind of the flying fist brush by his head. A loud snapping sound was made as the beefy fist collided with one of the crude-looking trees, breaking it immediately.

This time Batman threw his own punch, the hit colliding on the side of the Walrus' face, snapping his head to a side. The moment he landed the blow against the metal mask, pain shot up his arm, causing him to grit his teeth as he jumped away, putting distance between the two. Mentally the vigilante reprimanded himself—why the hell did he think punching the mask was a good idea? He should've aimed higher. He—

His thoughts were interrupted then as the Walrus let out a roar and twisted his body around, his arms extend outwards as they swung through the air. Immediately, the vigilante ducked the attack and lunged forward, firing off piston-quick jabs to the large man's midsection. One... two... three, he pounded them in, though to no effect. The Walrus merely grunted before he raised a hand up and then brought it down like a sledgehammer.

As the bottom of the fist collided with the top of the Dark Knight's head, stars exploded before his eyes as his legs instantly gave out, dropping him to the ground in a heap. As he tried to shake off the daze he found himself in, two hands gripped him by his upper arms. The next thing he knew, he was lifted right off the ground and sent flying out of control through the air.

Batman twisted and turned his body as he flew, trying to regain some control of himself. He just about had it too when his back collided with the stalk of one of the mushrooms, causing him to cry out before he fell onto the floor. Damn, this man was tougher than he had expected.

That just meant he had to bring out some bigger guns.

Reaching to a pouch on his belt, Batman slipped out a pair of brass knuckles, shoving his fingers through the holes and clenching them into fists. The moment he did that, small bolts of electricity began to dance on top of the brass knuckles. Forcing himself onto his feet, the vigilante stared the Walrus down with a glare. _Let's see how this guy likes this._

This time Batman began to close the distance between him and his opponent, who did the same. Again the Walrus drew a fist back and threw it the moment they were within striking distance. However, this time the vigilante shot to his left, raising up his right arm to block a potential backswing with the same attack arm. With his left fist, he drove it right into the Walrus' armpit, sending a searing jolt of electricity into his foe.

A sharp cry came from the larger man, his body flinching away from the blow as he seemed to cringe in on himself. Batman dashed at the man, unrelenting as he drove fist after fist into the Walrus' side, his right embedding itself over and over into his foe's gut while his left went after the kidney. Each blow drove the Walrus back a step, his arms feebly held up between him and the vigilante in an attempt to protect himself.

Which left his entire lower body unguarded. Drawing a leg back, the Dark Knight swung his foot forward, kicking the tusked man's knee and causing it to buckle. Instantly, the Walrus dropped to one knee, a hissing sound coming from his mask.

However, the Walrus seemed as if he would shake off that blow as he began to rise back up. Seeing they were at the edge of the cul-de-sac, Batman had an idea pop into his head. Grabbing onto the Walrus' shoulders he pulled on the man, forcing him to stumble forward. Letting out a roar, he rammed the larger man head first into the trees, letting go as he watch the tusked man crash and shatter the wood structures.

Surprisingly, the Walrus came to a sudden stop, running right into what Batman realized was a wall. Racing forward, he leapt into the air, extending one leg out as the other drew closer to his body. He sailed through the air until his extended foot slammed into the back of the Walrus' head, bashing it into—and through—the wall, followed quickly by the rest of the man's body and the vigilante.

Landing feet first on the back of the Walrus, Batman sprung forward off the man, landing on a set of stairs. Whipping around, the dark-clad man stared down his opponent, he laid on the ground unmoving. Watching, it soon became apparent to the vigilante that the Walrus was unconscious.

Relaxing slightly, Batman looked up through the new opening he and his foe had created, searching for the Carpenter. Unfortunately, she wasn't anywhere in sight, something that caused him to scowl. There was no telling where the woman had run off to, not in this maze. Turning to look up the stairs, he studied them for a moment, questions beginning to form in his mind. Why had these been sealed up? What was the point of it? Obviously there was a reason for it, but he wasn't coming up with one.

Well, there was only one way to find out. Fully turn his body, Batman began to scale the stairs, reaching a landing that led to another set of stairs. Climbing those, he soon found himself running into a dead end.

This made the Dark Knight narrow his eyes. If the bottom of the staircase was any indication, then this was a false wall as well. Touching the wall with one hand, he used his other to knock on it, repeating the action over and over at different places, listening intently on the sounds his knocks made.

Pausing for a moment, Batman turned to the wall at his left, rapping his knuckles against it and immediately noticed a difference. The side wall had a deeper resonance whereas the one in front of him was lighter, hollower.

Well then, since he still had his electrified brass knuckles on, it seemed he had one more use for them. Bracing his legs on the stairs, he drew a fist back and sent it flying a moment later, ramming his hand into and then through the wall. Hmm, shoddy work.

Pulling his arm back and out of the hole he had created, Batman wailed on the edges of the hole, making it bigger and bigger until he felt he could crawl through it. With one of his feet, he kicked at the lower edge of the hole, elongating it so he could walk rather than worm his way through it.

Once he was satisfied, the dark-clad man moved through the hole, finding himself in a similar landscape as the floor below—the same trees, bushes, and large mushrooms greeting his eyes. It seemed the Carpenter wasn't only working on one floor.

Unfortunately that meant there was more to this maze than he would've liked. Stepping forward, he continued his ascent into this rabbit hole.

* * *

Well this was new.

Having turned a corner, Batman came to a complete stop. In front of him was a large beige sheet, a large grinning cat face painted on its surface. Already Batman got a bad feeling just staring at the face.

If this truly was following an Alice in Wonderland motif, what he was staring at was undoubtedly the Cheshire Cat. However, unlike the previous characters he had encountered, this one was nothing more than a painting, which only set the vigilante on edge. While he wasn't sure of the meaning on the cat, he was certain that danger was near.

Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken and held it at the ready. Slowly he began to edge towards the cat-painted sheet, eyes flickering left to right and back as he scanned the area for any threats.

A creaking sound was his first warning. Looking straight at the cat face, it was suddenly torn apart with a sharp _riiiip!_ sound as the end of a large wood log careened towards him.

Jumping backwards, Batman leaned back as far as he could, his hands stretched out over his head as he planted them on the floor. He swung his legs up into the air just as he felt the log fly over his outstretched body, the wooden battering ram slowing down before it retreated to the tattered remains of the Cheshire Cat banner. Swinging his legs up, Batman flipped himself until he landed back on his feet on the floor, his cape falling over his shoulders and body once he settled.

That was when he heard another creaking sound. Movement out of the corner of his eyes told him something was approaching him from either side. Dropping to the floor, Batman heard a loud _BANG!_ over his head a moment later. Pushing his hands hard on the ground, yet keeping as low as possible, the vigilante darted forward, twisting his body around to see what he had just narrowly dodged.

Right where he had been standing were two more logs, each with cables wrapped around their bodies. Just looking at them told the dark-clad man that he had triggered some switch, which had released the logs from their respective hiding places, both swinging down until they collided head on with each other. Had he still been standing, they would've smashed his head into a pulp. It was an unusual trap to be sure, but in its uniqueness was certain death had he been a second too slow.

Jerking his head from side to side, up and down, and all over, Batman looked for any other approaching log or other trap, seeing none other than the first swinging long rocking back and forth until it came to a stop.

Cautiously Batman pushed himself up onto his feet. With every passing second he began to relax, feeling as if that was all that was part of the trap; however, he still kept on guard. A wrong step could conceivably activate another trap. Again he scanned the area to make sure that the worst was truly over.

It was because of this that he spotted pieces of the clothes from the Cheshire Cat banner. While some were of parts of the cat's face, others had what looked like letters on them. Taking a step to the nearest piece, he picked it up and studied it. On one side he noticed what had been a whisker of the cat; yet, when he flipped it over, he found letters on the other side. So there was something on the reverse side of that sheet.

Looking across the floor, the vigilante saw ripped shreds of the sheet. Carefully he collected them all, making sure he didn't activate another trap. It quickly became apparent though that the only one had been the swinging logs.

One he had the pieces, the dark-clad man knelt to the ground and placed them all with the lettering side facing him. With his hands he began to drag the cloth shreds around, placing them against matching pieces. It took a while, but finally a message was revealed to him once he placed the last piece.

 _Late, late goes the white rabbit_

 _To a throne made of sand and lead_

 _Loud is the sound of marching spades and hearts_

 _Be careful not to lose your head._

A riddle, that was what this was. Batman stared at the words as he recalled his last reading of Alice in Wonderland. He had already encountered the White Rabbit and his shrill cries of truancy, though he didn't recall what the throne of sand and lead was. Marching spades and hearts didn't make sense either, but the "lose your head" part sparked a familiar scene. Because of that, the Dark Knight had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

The more he thought about it, the more he remembered certain parts of the story, particularly why the White Rabbit was so frantic and to whom he was trying to please. If this whole maze was reenacting Lewis Carroll's story, then nothing good was going to come to any strangers in this bizarre land.

Standing up, Batman strode with long steps to the path leading away from the Cheshire Cat Trap. The familiar dirt path lead a short ways away before it made an abrupt turn, to which the vigilante couldn't see beyond considering where he was. Walking straight for the turn, he made the left and continued to traverse the trail.

Soon enough, he came to an intersection, three paths heading off in different directions—one to the left, one straight ahead, and the other to the right. Coming to a stop, the Dark Knight looked down each path to determine which one to try.

His considerations came to an immediate halt though, when he heard the snapping of a twig.

"Who's there?" he demanded as he dropped into a defensive stance, one hand going to his belt and hovering just before the pouch with his bat-shaped shuriken. "Show yourself!"

Slowly, Batman edged himself around, moving in a circle to try and find who had caused the snapping sound. Everywhere he looked though was covered with the Carpenter's crudely-made trees and the over-sized mushrooms. Anyone could've been hiding out behind any of the structures and he wouldn't have been able to find them, not without another giveaway of their—

 _Snap!_

Another snapping twig went off somewhere behind him. Whirling around, Batman pulled out the shuriken and held it up high, ready to throw it. "I won't ask again," he warned, "Come out—now."

Then, as if his words had been a signal, what looked like playing cards came pouring out from the trees, flooding the different paths with them. Eyes widening, Batman watched as the cards swarmed towards him before they all came to a stop, long spears being held up and pointed right at his neck.

Holding still, the vigilante glanced around him. It was just like those two men he had seen getting on the elevator; a mob of people were dressed with the symbols of spades, hearts, diamonds, and clubs, random numbers in their corners. He could see the painted faces of the men and women he saw, all of them masks of indifference aside from making sure their weapons were pointed right at him.

"Intruder," the Five of Spades sudden spoke up, his tone low and authoritative. "You have trespassed upon the lands of the Queen of Hearts. You are hereby under arrest."

This just couldn't be good.


	5. Tea Party

With cool eyes, Batman observed his surroundings. Considering he had a small army of playing card-dressed men pointing spears at him, many of which surrounded his neck, he wasn't able to notice much. Out of this entire maze of Wonderland-like trees and foliage, there was one place that had been spared the Carpenter's mad restructuring.

Having stepped through a doorway, the vigilante found himself in a rather ornamented room, the four symbols of the playing cards painted in a continuous pattern around the room. Everything else was of white, polished marble, except for the red velvet carpet that stretched from the doorway to the other side of the room. Potted plants and shrubbery lined up against the walls, no discernible pattern being made of the tall and large vegetation.

Before Batman was a large brown desk, one that looked as if it belonged in a courtroom rather than this bizarre place. And seated at this towering desk was a woman in black and red, a gavel with a heart symbol engraved on either side of it. Looking gravely at the dark-clad man, she raised her gavel up and swung it down repeatedly on her desk. "Order, order!" she rang out, her voice oddly melodious.

Instantly, the playing cards that weren't threatening to stab Batman in his carotid artery backed off, standing at attention on either side of the red carpet. "Court is now in session," the dark-haired woman continued, her large crown gleaming in the light. "What villain has the loyal guard brought before the Queen of Hearts?"

That was when a diamond card stepped onto the carpet, breaking one of the lines as he turned to face the queen. "A demon, Your Highness," the card proclaimed. "We caught it mingling with the Cheshire Cat."

"And why would this demon fraternize with such a lowly beast of burden? Such things are illegal in Wonderland, so decreed by me."

"The demon refuses to be interrogated, my Queen," the diamond answered. "It has not uttered a word since its capture."

"Oh?" The Queen of Hearts set her sights on the dark-clad man. "Speak Demon, or else find it shall be removed for uselessness."

Batman kept his composure as he stared around this so-called courtroom. "I fail to see how I've committed a crime," he answered briskly.

"So it does speak," the queen murmured. "It can keep its tongue then—pity."

So he was to be ignored even when ordered to speak. "You haven't contradicted me," he pressed.

The queen did not seem perturbed by this. "Your very presence before me indicates that you are in the wrong, fiend. If you were not, my guards would not have seen fit to arrest you."

"And what have I done that deserved my arrest?"

The Queen of Hearts looked at him as if he were a retarded puppy. "By breaking the law, of course."

"Which law would that be?" he growled back.

"My law, the only law that matters in Wonderland. Infractions and slights against my rule are punishable by death, you know."

"You call this a trial?" Batman snarled. "This is no trial—you pronounced me guilty the moment I walked into the room."

"Such is the fate of all who stand before me," the Queen of Hearts replied casually before she began to bang her gavel again. "And I pronounce you guilty as charged! The sentence: Death."

The next thing Batman knew, the spear points were removed from his neck, earning a brief moment of relief right before something kicked him in the back of his knee, causing him to hiss in pain as his joint buckled. Dropping down to one knee, he felt strong hands grab him by his biceps and held him prostrated on the ground, forcefully revealing his hands out from their hiding place beneath his cape.

By then the Queen of Hearts had descended from her perch behind her desk, walking around it to stand between it and the vigilante. More importantly, she held an axe in her hands, its sharp edge gleaming in the room's fluorescent light. Pacing towards the subdued vigilante, the severe-looking queen raised the sharp weapon above her head as she shouted an all-too familiar refrain.

"Off with his head!"

This was bad. Held in a compromised position by two fairly-strong men with a woman about to lop his head off with a very sharp-looking axe, Batman found himself with very limited options. Fortunately the Queen of Hearts stood just in front of him, definitely within hitting distance had his arms been free.

So he had to settle with a different appendage. Leaning to a side, Batman shot out one of his legs, sweeping it across the floor and kicking out the mad queen's legs from under her. With a surprised cry, the woman fell backwards, landing roughly on the ground as one end of the axe embedded itself into the floor.

One threat down, now he just needed to get his two restrainers off. That would prove simple considering he was leaning towards one of them. During his capture, he had hidden his hands from sight beneath his cape and the playing card guards hadn't forced him to remove them—a mistake on their part. This allowed him to slip on his electrified brass knuckles without anyone being the wiser; and since no one had seen him do it, none of the playing cards had made a move to remove them the moment his hands were revealed.

Balling his hand into a fist, and subsequently causing bolts of electricity to dance over the brass knuckles, the vigilante strained to move his arm towards the guard on the opposite side, held back by the other playing card. He wouldn't be denied, however, as he touched the brass knuckle against the playing card guard and instantly saw the man freeze up, a pained cry escaping his lips. Arms spasming, the man let go of the Dark Knight as he collapsed to the ground, constantly twitching from the electric tasing he had just received.

At that moment, the other guard pulled his arm back, unaware that the dark-clad man had his other hand free. With a swing, he slammed his fist into the playing card's chin, delivering an electrified uppercut that sent the card flying off the floor and crashing into two other playing cards.

Almost as if on cue, the rest of the standing playing cards pointed their spears at the vigilante and began to charge, closing in on him from all sides. Shooting a hand to his belt, Batman pulled out a flashbang grenade and threw it at the ground at his feet. A deafening boom blasted throughout the room, a blinding flash causing everyone to shriek in pain as their eyes were burned.

Thanks to the lens in his cowl, Batman was saved from the flash, allowing him to see each and every playing card guard dropping their weapons as their hands shot up to their face and vainly tried to rid themselves of their burning. Lunging forward, Batman practically flew towards two playing cards standing too close to each other. Extending his arms out, the dark-clad man grabbed them both by either side of their heads and forced them together, a loud _crack!_ being made as their skulls collided with each other. Releasing them, the two guards collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Dropping a hand to his belt, Batman pulled out two bat-shaped shuriken, spinning around as he did so. The moment he caught sight of more playing cards, he swung his armed hand out, sending the projectiles flying through the air. The shuriken collided with the temple of two of the playing card guards, knocking them out instantly and causing their bodies to dropped to the floor.

So far so good, Batman thought as he glanced at his other opponents. So far he'd managed to take out eight of the cards, which left...eight more to go. Unfortunately, none were still dazed by his flashbang grenade, instead the remaining guards opting to regroup as they slowly encircled him. Their spears were pointed right at him, discouraging further action until they were ready.

The moment they were set, they attacked. Though the vigilante had been expecting a simultaneous charge from all eight, apparently they were considering that option as one man began a charge from his back, yelling as he did so. Standing his ground, Batman waited until the last possible moment to react, not even looking at his charging foe.

The moment alarms went off in his head, the dark-clad man acted, ducking down towards the ground and jerking to his right. A second later, the end of the spear passed right by his side where he had been standing previously. Instantly, Batman shot both of his hands out, his right grabbing onto the weapon near its tip and the left further down the shaft and under it. Pulling down with his right as he pushed up with his left, Batman used his opponent's momentum against him, lifting the surprised guard off the floor and sending him flying headfirst through the air as he let out a shocked cry.

Incidentally, the playing card flew right at one of his comrades, who was just as surprised as his friend. In fact, he was paralyzed where he stood until the flying guard crashed into him, knocking the both of them unconscious as they collapsed to the floor.

"What are you fools doing?!" the Queen of Hearts screeched. "Stop him! Stab him! Do something you useless cards!"

That seemed to be all the playing cards needed as they all simultaneously charged. Though Batman was tempted to simply duck at the last minute and let them all crash into each other, there was the problem of the spears. Any one of the guards could accidentally run one of their comrades through were they to collide with the others—that was not an option. Unfortunately, not even he could fight off six people that were mere seconds away from piercing his armor and bodily organs. So if ducking and fighting weren't safe, if not viable, choices, then that just left one thing left.

Dropping both hands to his belt, Batman pulled out his grapple with one hand and pointed it up to the ceiling, firing the grapple claw a second later. A moment later he hit the retraction button and shot up into the air, leaving the playing cards to slow their charge until all of them came to a stop, gawking up at him.

With his other hand, the vigilante pulled out a small metal ball and dropped it to the floor below. The ball hit the ground right in the middle of the guards, immediately exploding into a cloud of green smoke. Surprised cries soon turned into choked gasps as the playing cards coughed roughly and loudly. One by one the coughs quieted down until only silence was left. Slowly the green cloud dissipated, revealing all of the playing cards lying on the floor unconscious, the desired result of the knock-out gas he had left in his wake.

Releasing the retraction button and deactivating the claw, Batman dropped back to the floor, landing on it with a sharp _clap!_ as his cape fell all over his shoulders and body.

"Off with his head!"

Jerking around, the dark-clad man saw the Queen of Hearts back on her feet, holding her axe up as she charged at him. Quickly, the vigilante dashed towards her the moment she began to swing her weapon, extending both hands to grab onto the shaft of the axe and stopping it.

"How dare you?!" the queen shouted in moral outrage. Fortunately she wasn't too strong, so holding off her weapon wasn't too much of a problem for the Dark Knight. Sure that he had a good grip, Batman let go with one of his hands and extend his index and middle fingers. Shooting them forward, he jab his fingers into the side of the Queen of Heart's neck, hitting a pressure point that immediately caused her eyes to roll into the back of her head, shortly followed by her body going limp and dropping to the floor.

Still holding the axe, Batman slowly lowered it down before tossing it towards an empty part of the room, clear of any unconscious bodies. A loud clattering was made as the axe bounced on the floor before it stilled.

Turning his head, the vigilante surveyed the room, making sure that all of the playing card guards were down. The last thing he needed was for one of them to be playing possum. Faintly his nose could pick up the residual of the knock-out gas, though the amount he was smelling wouldn't do more than make him drowsy for a few seconds. It seemed using that pellet had been a good idea as well as assuredly the previously unconscious guards would have breathed some in as well, further securing their current states.

Certain there weren't any other threats, Batman turned to leave the room when he paused. Focusing on a wall, he couldn't help but notice a small crease running at the corner where the wall met the floor. The crease formed the length of a doorway if he wasn't mistaken.

Walking towards the wall, the vigilante removed his electrified brass knuckles and returned them to their pouch on his belt. Once he reached the wall, he raised a fist and began rapping his knuckles at different spots, listening to the sound that was made. He heard a deep sound once, twice, three times—then the fourth it was lighter, hollower. Narrowing his eyes, he continued to knock until he heard the deeper sound. Backing up, he knocked again and heard the hollower sound again.

Another false wall. Pulling his hand back, Batman stared at the wall before he raised his foot and kicked the wall as hard as he could. As expected, the sound of snapping wood filled his ears as he made a foot-sized hole where he kicked the wall.

It seemed he had found his next staircase.

* * *

The moment he reached the top of the stairs, Batman came to a stop.

Painted on the wall in front of him was another Cheshire Cat face, it's grin leering at him. A trap was nearby, he just knew it; it was only a matter of what it was and where it would activate.

As his eyes darted from left to right and back, the vigilante heard an audible click from above. Jerking his head up, the dark-clad man's eyes widened as he saw razor-sharp spikes descending from the vaulted roof above him. Diving forward, Batman went into a roll head over feet before he ended up on in a crouched stance, twisting his upper body around in time to see the spikes collide with the floor, piercing the tile with a loud _crunch!_

That was when the floor beneath the Dark Knight's feet disappeared. A surprised cry escaped the vigilante's lips as he began to fall. However, that momentary instant of shock was quickly replaced by instinct as he shot a hand out, grabbing onto the edge of what he discovered to be a pit. Roughly his body rammed into the wall of the pit, sending a dull jolt of pain through his body and causing him to grunt. Not one to let himself hang precariously, Batman reached up with his other hand and grabbed the ledge, making sure his grip was firm.

As his heart rate began to slow, Batman looked down below him, seeing another set of spikes far at the bottom. This was a clever trap to be sure, having a set of spikes attack from above, forcing the victim to either be impaled or dive onto this secondary trap, much like with the swinging logs at the first Cheshire Cat trap.

Flexing his biceps, the dark-clad man began to hoist himself up, pulling himself out of the pit until he could rest his forearms on the floor, giving him more leverage as he climbed out. Swinging his legs to a side, he managed to get one of them up on the floor as well and finished climbing out of the pit by going into a roll, ending up laying on his back. Not the best place to stop for a rest, but he needed to take a breath if only to further calm his beating heart. It was because of this that he noticed something painted on the roof above.

 _Time can go in seven different directions  
Only a man quite mad can tell  
Yet little girls and cards only go in one  
That really must be some sort of hell  
If only those poor fellows could see  
Perhaps with a spot of tea_

Another poem, if not another clue. If this was still following the Wonderland story, then there was one more place he was bound to encounter, that being a tea party. Considering he was on the top floor of the Duchess, this party had to be somewhere on this floor—which also meant so did Alice.

Or so he hoped.

Pushing himself up until he came to stand on his feet, the vigilante looked to his left and found it to be a wall—a dead end. The only way to go was right, following trees and brush. Allowing his cape to envelop him, Batman stalked down the trail like a wraith, his senses on high alert for the next trap.

As the minutes rolled by without an encounter, the Dark Knight felt himself ill at ease. Turning corners and running into dead ends and pathways that circled in on themselves were par for the course since he had entered this strange Wonderland, yet the further he went the more anxious he became. In the beginning he knew he had an unknown amount of area to search, but that had changed. Every step he took eliminated what was left of the maze, shrinking it until he would reach its end.

That was when he heard a voice. It was muted, though it chattered endlessly. Picking up his pace, Batman closed in on the voice, hearing it grow louder and more distinct, along with the sound of clattering china if he weren't mistaken.

Soon he came up to two hedges, the two framing a doorway. Stalking up to it, the vigilante came to a stop in the threshold. Before him was a long table covered in plates, knives, forks and spoons, various appetizers, jams, and butters. Several chairs lined the table, most of which were empty save for four.

Sitting closest to the Dark Knight were two men, one short, the other tall. The short one wore a full body mouse suit, reminiscent of the White Rabbit; the taller man wore a brown rabbit suit, along with a red suit jacket. At the foot of the table was someone that looked just like the illustrations of the Mad Hatter and it was his voice that chattered on incessantly. His blue trench coat was buttoned down, closing it around his body as a large bow tie flopped about as he talked. The same 10/6 card was sticking out of the band around his top hat, causing Batman to narrow his eyes.

Finally, he laid his sights on the last diner and knew he was in the right place. A young blonde girl, dressed in a blue and white dress with a black hairband styling her hair, sipped at a cup of tea, holding it with her pinkie politely extended. Even from where he stood, Batman recognized the face of Alice Simmons, undisguised by her wardrobe.

However, his sudden appearance in the threshold did not go unnoticed, the Mad Hatter character's head perking up the moment he caught sight of the vigilante. "My, my, my, we seem to have a guest!" the blond-haired man exclaimed, causing the table's occupants to turn to look at him.

"We have another for our tea party!" the rabbit man responded, practically jumping out of his seat and hurrying over to an empty chair, pulling it out for the Dark Knight. "Come, come, the more the merrier!"

"Do please seat with us," Alice Simmons added pleasantly. "We were having a frightfully entertaining conversation."

That caused alarms to go off in Batman's head. That was not the speech pattern of a modern day teenage girl. Something was wrong with this, not that this entire maze wasn't wrong to begin with. "Alice Simmons, I'm here to take you home," he said.

"Oh, but you can't do that," the Hatter replied. "In case you haven't noticed, it is tea time and one simply cannot ignore a freshly made pot of tea. Just look at the time if you don't believe me."

When he noticed the table's occupants looking in a certain direction, Batman looked himself and noticed a clock face, though one without numbers or hands. Instead a black marker had been used to draw a line from the top to the bottom of the clock face, signifying six o'clock. Crudely written letters had been scribbled on the clock face as well, spelling out TeA TiME.

"Now be a good lad and have a seat. We all can be such good friends."

Batman coolly regarded the Hatter man before growling, "I don't think so. The girl is leaving with me."

"Is it time for me to leave?" Alice asked pleasantly, looking to the vigilante with innocent eyes. "Allow me to bid my good friends goodbye."

"Now, now, Alice, you don't have to leave," the Hatter responded, reaching a hand out and patting one of Alice's. "There is no reason nor cause nor time for you to go, my dear child. In fact, time has no bearing here as he has politely stopped for us. Forward and backward, side to side, up and down, he does not move an inch in either way."

"Uh oh!" the rabbit shouted. "We must switch!"

Suddenly, the brown rabbit and mouse took off running, racing around the table as the Hatter and Alice stayed where they were, the two ultimately taking seats in random chairs, the mouse at the foot of the table and the rabbit a chair down from Alice.

"Very good, March Hare," the blond-haired man complimented. "A shame our black friend over there didn't join us."

"Right you are, Mad Hatter!" Then the March Hare leaned in close to Alice, a hand raised and held on the other side of his mouth as he murmured to the girl, "And you won't find anyone more mad than him, toots."

There was a twitch at the corner of the Mad Hatter's smile, something Batman was quick to note. "And you're stark raving mad, I believe."

The March Hare seemed to freeze for a moment before giving an uneasy smile. "That's what I said, did I not you Loony Hatter?"

The Mad Hatter's empty hand spasmed for a quick second, his fingers clenching like a claws before relaxing. "That's... _Mad...Hatter._ "

Something was going on here, that much Batman knew. The casual aura the Mad Hatter had been giving up was slowly being replaced with anger, but at what? It was almost as if some sort of ritual had been interrupted, one dictated only by the one who had created it. Just looking at the March Hare told him the rabbit-suited man wasn't in charge—he was practically sweating at the table. The vacant expression on Alice's face ruled her out, though it could be a clever subterfuge. The mouse had yet to show his character so he was still an option.

"I do believe you have lost your marbles, my dear March Hare," the Haberdasher spoke then. "Swept away, forgotten, tossed away like a broken watch; yet I know how to fix a watch, even one that is two days slow. Dormouse, if you would."

The March Hare jerked his head around towards the foot of the table, too late to have seen Dormouse get up and move behind him. Grabbing the rabbit man's head, the mouse shoved him face first onto the table, incidentally into a large bowl of strawberry jam. Immediately March Hare began to thrash about as he tried to fight his way out of suffocation, unable to free himself from the surprisingly strong smaller man.

In an instant, Batman launched himself across the room, leaping up on top of the table before he pulled a leg back and then swung it forward, slamming his foot into the shorter man's face. The blow must have been harder than the vigilante had anticipated as the mouse man jerked backwards, stumbling a few steps before collapsing onto the ground unmoving. March Hare jerked his head up, gasping deeply for air as he coughed up small pieces of jam.

"What are you doing?!" the Mad Hatter shouted as he shot up onto his feet, knocking his chair back as it fell to the floor. Turning his sights onto the man, Batman then took off down the table, the sight of his approach causing the milliner to back away in fright.

He didn't get far as the dark-clad man jumped off the table, soaring through the air until he collided with the Mad Hatter, dropping the man to the floor with a scream as Batman landed on top of him. Hands grabbing onto the blue jacket, the vigilante forced the blond-haired man's face up to his. "This ends now," he growled menacingly.

"No, it can't!" the Hatter surprisingly cried. "I won't let you interrupt my tea party!"

Suddenly, two arms wrapped around Batman's neck, forcing him back and off the Mad Hatter. Twisting his head as much as he could, the vigilante was surprised to see the March Hare of all people was behind him, trying to drag him away from the scrambling Haberdasher. "Hold him!" the Mad Hatter screamed as he climbed onto his feet. "Don't let him restart time!"

Gritting his teeth, Batman returned to look towards the blond-haired man, slowly leaning his head forward as much as he could. He then snapped his head backwards, slamming the back of his skull against the face of the March Hare. A strangled cry erupted from the rabbit man behind him, subsequently causing him to release the Dark Knight.

Crouching low, Batman spun around until he faced the March Hare, seeing the man pressing his hands against his face. Balling a hand into a fist, the dark-clad man sent it rocketing upward, uppercutting the rabbit-dressed man, and sending him flying up into the air before he came crashing down on the table, china and drinking glasses shattering in the process.

All the while, Alice Simmons stared blankly at the entire scene. Looking at the girl, Batman allowed his cape to envelop his body before he calmly strode towards her. "I'm taking you home, Alice," he said to her as he came to a stop next to the table, holding a hand out to her. In response, the young girl looked up at him.

That was when something hard hit him on the back, causing the Dark Knight to crumble forward as he dropped to his knees. "You can't have her!" the Mad Hatter shrieked. "Alice is mine, mine, mine! Do you hear me?! _MINE!_ "

Tilting his head to a side, Batman saw the crazed man holding the shattered remains of what had been a chair—obviously what had hit him. Grabbing onto the edge of the table, Batman began to pull himself up, which prompted the milliner to raise his broken chair above his head to use it again.

The moment he saw the chair swing down, Batman bolted to the Mad Hatter's right, dodging the descending furniture. Darting towards his attacker, the vigilante raised an arm up, keeping it bent at the elbow and rammed it into the side of the blonde man's head. A sharp gasp came from the man as he was knocked off his feet, the chair falling from his grasp as he dropped to the floor, landing hard.

The moment he landed, his top hat popped off his head, scattering on the floor until it came to a stop, rolling in a semi-circle back and forth on its brim. At that moment, something strange happened.

Life seem to spring forth from Alice Simmons' eyes, her face twisting with confusing. "Wha? Where am I…" she spoke softly before her eyes widened. Her head then jerked down and she got a good look at what she was wearing. "What is going on?!" she exclaimed. Almost frantically her hands crawled over her body, pulling at her dress and apron, going up to her head where she pulled off the hairband and tossed it loudly onto the table.

"Put that back on!" the Mad Hatter shouted shrilly as he pushed himself up, scrambling for his hat. He grabbed the head wear and roughly shoved it back onto his head. "Do as I say, Alice! Put your hairband back on!"

"No, you freak!" Alice screamed back before she went silent again, only this time her eyes fell upon the Dark Knight. "Oh my God…" she squeaked out.

"No, this isn't right, this cannot be!" The more the Mad Hatter spoke, the more enraged he became. "I won't stand for this, no!" He then twisted on the floor, glaring at Batman, pointing a finger shaking with rage at him. "You're responsible for this, the destruction of my Wonderland! I'll make you pay for it!

"Guards!"

Immediately, more playing card guards came marching through the various entrances, all holding black or red spears. Batman had to repress a growl at the sight of them. Jumping to his feet, the Mad Hatter dashed over to Alice Simmons, grabbing her by her hand and hauled her out of her chair. "Stop him!" the milliner ordered before he dragged the teenaged girl towards the entrance.

"Let me go!" Alice cried, stumbling behind the crazed man.

Unfortunately, there were a few obstacles in Batman's way. While there weren't as many playing cards as there were in the Queen of Heart's court, there were enough to delay him from following behind his crazed Hatter and Alice Simmons.

That was intolerable.

As the Mad Hatter fled through a doorway into the maze, Batman reached to his belt and pulled out a flashbang grenade. This wouldn't knock the playing cards out, but it would stall them long enough for the vigilante to catch up with the fleeing haberdasher—and end this mess. Thrusting his hand out, Batman then threw the grenade down to the floor, a deafening _BOOM!_ ringing out as a burning flash filled the room. Due to his cowl, the dark-clad man was insulated from the sound and his eyes protected by his lens; he couldn't say the same for the playing cards as they cried out in pain around him. Without hesitation, the Dark Knight charged towards the exit, jabbing out an elbow at a nearby, cringing guard, landing the blow against the side of the man's head and knocking him to the floor.

Flying into the maze, Baman raced down the makeshift corridor, picking up the clacking sound of footsteps ahead of him. He was literally on the tail of his prey and nothing would—

Suddenly, a large fist bust through one of the crude trees, a beefy arm extending out. There was nothing Batman could do as he plowed into the arm, his feet swinging out from under him, his upper body froze in midair as he was clotheslined. Crashing onto the floor on his back, Batman felt the air in his lungs forced out, leaving him breathless for a heartbeat. Sucking in as much air as he could, he immediately rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself, just in time to see the Walrus force his way through the broken wood and onto the pathway.

Damn it, he hadn't completely knocked this guy out.

Even worse, he didn't have time to play with this goon; that was why he reacted the way he did when the Walrus charged at him, throwing a haymaker. Shifting to a side, Batman shot both hands up, one grabbing onto the larger man by his wrist as the other hand grabbed the elbow. Pulling the fist down as he forced the elbow up, Batman used the man's momentum against him, leveraging him off the ground and into the air, flipping as he did so until the Walrus landed hard on his back.

Finding himself standing near the larger man's head, Batman pulled a leg back and swung it forward, kicking the Walrus across his face with his foot, snapping the man's head to a side.

Seeing the Walrus' body go limp, Batman then leapt over the fallen man's body and continued on into the maze. Unfortunately he had fallen further behind the Mad Hatter so ground had to be made up. Arms pumping at his sides, the vigilante raced as fast as he could, taking a turn to the left, the only way he could, shortly followed by a right.

It was then his ears picked up on Alice's frighten cries. "Please, let me go!" she begged up ahead. If the Batman wasn't mistaken, she was coming from the other side of the wall he was running towards. Deciding to take a page from the Walrus' book, the Dark Knight pressed onto as he rushed at the wall, leaping at the last moment as he brought both of his arms in front of his face to provide some protection.

Wood splintered and shattered as he crashed into the trees, the debris flying out in front of him as he landed on another path. He was greeted by the sight of a large sheet of glass, metal bars crisscrossing to form smaller window panels. Off to his left were the Mad Hatter and Alice, the latter of whom was pulling back from her kidnapper as hard as she could, stopping the two in the process.

A gasp escaped the Mad Hatter's lips as he caught sight of the Dark Knight, causing Alice to stop her efforts as she turned to look at him. That was a mistake as the blonde-haired man took that opportunity and lunged towards the window panels. As it turned out, there was a sliding glass door right where the two had stopped, the glass shattering as the milliner rammed into it, dragging a startled Alice behind him.

Eyes widening, Batman rushed towards the door and turned, seeing a large balcony extending out in front of him, bright red-and-blue lights shining up from beyond its railing. Right in the middle of it stood the Mad Hatter, holding the Simmons girl between the two men. His arm was wrapped around the teenager's neck, putting pressure against her windpipe as she stared at the Dark Knight with frightened eyes. "Back away," the Mad Hatter warned. "I don't want to hurt the girl, but I will if you leave me no choice."

Batman merely stared at the desperate man, all the while his cape enveloped his body, hiding his hands from sight. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out one of his specialized shurikens and began typing in the correct code to activate the projectile's computer systems. "Let the girl go and give yourself up," the vigilante delivered in a low growl.

"Never!" the blond-haired man shouted manically. "I will never give up my perfect world! My Wonderland! No man should have to settle for anything less!"

Well, this man was certainly deluded and it was obvious Batman couldn't reason with him. Tossing his cape to a side, the vigilante sent his bat-shaped shuriken flying, watching it fly through the air and right by the Mad Hatter and Alice harmlessly. The haberdasher turned his head to watch the projectile before he looked back at the Dark Knight and said smugly, "You missed."

Unbeknownst to him, the shuriken made a sudden U-turn, angling right back at him. A moment later the projectile collided with the back of the Mad Hatter's head, causing him to cry out as he stumbled forward, losing his grip on Alice as he inadvertently shoved her to a side.

Launching himself forward, Batman drew both of his arms up above his head and clasped his hands together before swinging them down, jackhammering his foe on the back of his head and dropping him hard onto the ground. Watching the fallen man with a cautious eye for a moment, Batman then straightened his posture out as he turned to look at a stunned Alice.

"Oh, thank you," she breathed out then, practically throwing herself at the vigilante. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she began to sob out as she buried her face into his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his neck.

And then something rammed right into Batman's back, causing the both of them to cry out, one from surprise and the other from pain. Something grabbed onto the dark-clad man, two arms from what he could tell, which released him the moment he and the Simmons girl reached the balcony railing, the two being forced over it.

Alice let out a scream as she went over the balcony railing, even as Batman made to grab her. However, his cape went taut and stopped his descend immediately, leaving the teenage girl to fall. Jerking his head around, Batman was half-enraged, half-appalled to see the Walrus still standing, holding the dark-clad man by his cape.

Damn it all, he was getting sloppy. No way should this man still be able to walk! No more playing around. Batman began to swing his legs back and forth, gaining momentum before he swung himself up, hovering upside-down before the Walrus. All the while, he had reached to his belt and pulled out another shuriken.

The Walrus let go of the Dark Knight's cape with one hand and began to reach out for him. Holding the shuriken tightly, Batman jabbed one of the ends at the larger man, stabbing him in his extended arm.

Finally the Walrus let out a sound, crying out in pain before his eyes suddenly rolled into the back of his head. It seemed the sedative that coated the edge of the bat-shaped shuriken was taken effect—good. The Walrus then dropped to the ground, his hold on the cape vanishing, which allowed the vigilante to begin his own descend down towards the ground.

Angling his body, Batman shot head first through the air, seeing Alice much further below him. Her blonde hair was whipping around her face as she screamed, both of her hands reaching out towards him desperately. With the wind battering at him, Batman made his body as aerodynamic as he could to cover the distance between him and the girl. Far below them he could see police cars and SWAT vans, their presence indicating that they had been alerted by that man in the parking garage.

Unfortunately, he and the girl were much closer to the ground than Batman would have liked and they were drawing closer. With every passing second, he closed the distance between him and Alice Simmons, but a gnawing feeling was creeping up into his stomach, one he squelched only for it to return against instantly.

His mind was a whirlwind of doubt and stubborn refusal. He wasn't going to make it—no, goddamn it, he was! He was—he wasn't. He couldn't get to her before she—no, he would! He had to. There was no can't, only can! He would save her, he would save her.

Despite all of this, a cold realization began to settle in his stomach.

He couldn't save her.


	6. Two Weeks Later

Iron rattled against metal, ringing out into the still air of the cave. Body odor mingled with the stench of bat guano, usually an affront to the senses, but was currently being ignored. Tired muscles burned in protest as Bruce raised and lowered the weight bar over and over. Sweat trickled down his skin, soaking his shirt.

It had been two weeks since the incident at the Duchess Highrise; two weeks of frustration that had yet to work itself out; two weeks of grueling workouts that strained his body to the limit and beyond.

Two weeks of seeing Alice Simmons' terrified face as she constantly remained out of his reach.

No matter what he did, Bruce could see the girl's face on replay, just as vivid as the night he hadn't saved her. The ground rushing up to them seemed to freeze in the instant he realized he couldn't reach her no matter what he did. He had been on the verge of pulling his grapple out in a vain attempt to attach the grapple claw to her and draw her closer to him, but even then there wouldn't be enough time to get her into his arms and form his glider cape all while stopping them both from ending up as two large blood spatters on the road.

That didn't mean he didn't try though.

 _His hand dropped to his belt, taking hold of his grapple as he pulled it out, aiming it at the falling teenager. The wind from his descent battered at his air, constantly pushing his arm from side to side, effecting his aim. He only had one chance at this and he needed to make it count._

 _The sight of the patrol car-crowded street continued to grow bigger as they drew closer to it. Each passing moment only heightened the doom it represented, which only increased the anxiety that was gnawing within the Dark Knight. Raising his other hand, he grabbed his grapple-armed arm in an attempt to steady it._

 _A moment later proved his efforts were for naught._

 _Out of the corner of his eyes the dark-clad man picked up movement. A figure swung in from his right, some sort of cable in his hand. An instant later Batman discovered it was indeed a man from the build he noticed and the clothes he wore._

 _Nightwing._

 _Letting go of his line with one hand, the younger vigilante reached out towards the falling Alice and wrapped his arm around her, catching her in midair. Suddenly the two were swinging away, leaving Batman the only one careening towards the ground._

 _Immediately he placed his grapple back in his belt and then activated the electric current in his gauntlet, grabbing his cape to make it stiff and slow his descent. Feeling his body being crushed by two different forces, the killing of his inertia while his body continued to try to accelerate, he was soon gliding off, his equilibrium returning moments later._

 _Angling his body, he gave chase to Nightwing, seeing the younger man touchdown on a rooftop nearby. In midair Batman watched as the dark-haired youth comforted the teenage girl, waiting for her to calm down as the Gotham Police began to scale the fire escapes. Alice sobbed into his shoulder, her arms wrapped crushingly tight around the young man. To the vigilante's credit, he let her cry, offering her his presence as comfort. Once he was sure the girl would be okay, Nightwing pried himself out of the teenage girl's embrace and left her, leaping onto the roof of the building next to them as he fled the scene._

 _Which was perfect. Keeping his flight, Batman followed the young man until they were a few blocks away from the Duchess. It was there that the Dark Knight ended his glide, landing on top of the roof just in front of Nightwing._

 _For a brief moment Nightwing looked surprised as Batman's cape slackened the moment he touched down, the result of releasing the cloth and allowing it to fall over his body. To his credit, he recovered quickly as the younger man straightened out his posture, crossing his arms over his chest, a defensive look appearing on his face. "So we meet again. Don't tell me you're going to give me another lecture."_

" _What are you still doing out here?" the Dark Knight growled back._

" _Saving your that girl it would look like," he retorted snidely. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood when I saw her and you falling like bricks."_

" _It was under control."_

 _Nightwing snorted. "My bad, I didn't realize falling after someone was the best way to save them. I'll remember it for next time."_

 _It was pretty clear that neither one of them liked each other, which was fine. Batman wasn't doing this to be liked by some pretty boy in spandex_ — _especially one that was using makeshift equipment to do a dangerous job._

" _It is when the alternative is using a grapple line bought at Academy," Batman replied. Even during the fall, he had been able to notice the usage the cable showed. One wrong move, any additional strain to the line could have broken it and then the dark-clad man would have another person that needed saving. "You're lucky that the cable didn't snap with both of your weight."_

" _Sorry, but I'm working under a budget here," Nightwing shot back heatedly. "And it's not like there's a Vigilantes-R-Us is around to supply me with all I need. Besides, the girl is safe and sound_ — _that's what matters."_

 _That was a legitimate point, but it wasn't one Batman would admit to right now. Not that he had the choice as Nightwing continued to ramble. "I saw you two falling, ya know, and it didn't look like you'd get to her in time. That's the only reason why I stepped in."_

 _Though those words were said more calmly than the previous ones, there was an underlying anger to them, one that Batman could appreciate. From his research of this young man, there were striking similarities between them, similar motives and passions. Though he hadn't figured out where Nightwing had obtained all of his training, he had a very good hint as to where his courage came from._

 _The sort of courage it took to do flips one hundred feet in the air without the aid of a net._

 _Still, there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity and Nightwing was straddling it._

 _And apparently the younger man hadn't stopped talking either, continuing their conversation. "We all need a little help, ya know. I have my groupies, the Birds of Prey have theirs_ — _even you had that magician chick for awhile. You need to face the fact that it's better to have someone watching your back than not."_

" _And if they're watching your back, who's watching theirs?" Batman pointed out._

" _Hmm, oh I wonder who," came the sarcastic response. "Perhaps the other person."_

 _Batman stared at Nightwing before he turned and walked away. "Get off my streets," he called out over his shoulder as he headed to the roof's ledge._

 _Nightwing said something then, but the dark-clad man ignored it. Still, that didn't mean he didn't hear it, the words echoing in his head for the rest of the night._

" _Not even the Batman can handle everything alone."_

Letting out a grunt, Bruce pushed the metal bar up before placing it back on its catchers, ending his bench press exercise. Sitting up, he grabbed a white towel at the end of the bench and began rubbing it across his brow and arms, wiping away the sweat.

That was where he and Nightwing disagreed. He had protected Gotham all by himself without the aid of others; in fact he had been on the GCPD's most wanted list for awhile. The dark-haired man had worked alone successfully before and he could do it now.

Yet, Gotham was a different city now.

Gone were the old, established Mob families, replaced by younger up-and-comers such as Roman Sionis. The man was still missing, most likely having gone underground to lick his wounds and plot his next move. When that happened he would be on the scumbag and there wouldn't be another escape.

However, there was another concern growing. The incident at the Duchess hadn't been a mafia plan, nor was it the mechanization of a rational mind. It had all been created by the delusions of a rather brilliant neuroscientist—if his research were correct—and that was the troubling aspect. Whether this was the beginning of something to come or just an unusual occurrence, it was just something else for Bruce to prepare for.

And he would be. He would be faster, stronger. No more would he make the mistakes he had made at the Duchess; no more would he make the assumptions he had when fighting those possessed victims.

No more would he have watch helplessly as another Alice plunged to her death.

* * *

There were downsides to every job. Some jobs made you to work ungodly hours. Some jobs made you deal with garbage. Then there were jobs that made you deal with garbage that happened to hold political office.

"What kind of racket are you bastards running here?" Senator Simmons demanded, spit flicking off from his lips. That wasn't something new as the man was the butt of many jokes for it. It was very common to see him fired up while on the Senate floor, pounding the committee bench with his fist and, of course, spit flying everywhere.

From behind his desk, Gordon took all of it, not even blinking. This had been going on for almost twenty minutes. Any longer and this might be a new record for the amount of screaming that happened in this office at any given time.

Not that the commissioner could blame this man for his screaming. God knows he himself had been in a similar situation years ago, his daughter kidnapped and held against her will by a madman. And like that time, a certain vigilante had appeared to save the day.

That was where things went differently.

As he had been securing the perimeter around the Duchess and waiting for SWAT to get ready, he had become one of the spectators on that night to see poor Alice Simmons fall off the top of the building. Now that had been heart-stopping, to see all of that and not be able to do anything about it. It was only thanks to a searchlight that he had spotted the dark figure falling after her that his heart resumed beating.

Batman had been up there too and now he was going to try to save this girl, just like he had done for his daughter once more.

"My niece almost _died_! How did your men manage to screw up that much? Huh? She was put into needless danger!" Okay, now some of the Senator's spit was on his cheek. "Don't give me those looks. What are you two thinking?"

Gordon shared a glance with a certain office fixture of his, one district attorney who returned the look.

"It could be worse, Senator," Dent offered.

"And just how could it be worse?" Simmons demanded, nostrils flaring like a bull's.

"She could have actually died," Gordon answered. "I'd consider it a victory."

"Don't you patronize me," Simmons snarled. "If you two weren't so incompetent, none of this would have ever happened!"

"So we were supposed to know that some deranged lunatic who happens to have a thing for _Alice in Wonderland_ would kidnap _your_ niece to enact some kind of weird reenactment of said book on the top floors of one of the ritziest hotels in the city and prevent all that from happening?" Dent deadpanned. "With all due respect, not even the Feds and all their spying equipment could have prevented this. It was handled the best it could have been. If you have any further complaints, I suggest taking it up with the man who tried to save your daughter. A man who, let's be honest, probably doesn't care about your opinion."

"You watch yourself, Dent. Both of you," Simmons growled, panning his glare over to the commissioner who was doing his best to remain as impassive as he could. Giving in to his emotions would not make this any easier. "There are going to be some changes in this city, I promise you," the senator continued. "Remember, you're only warming your seats."

"Noted. Is there anything else?" Gordon replied. "If not, I would like to continue speaking with the D.A. here about the charges we're going to use to make sure…" he paused as he looked down on the Simmons' abduction file, "...Jervis Tetch stays locked up for the rest of his life."

With a huff, the senator spun around and stomped his way out. Ah, that was better.

"So, Dent, what are we going to do?"

Yes, back to business. Before Senator Simmons had arrived, the two of them had been working out the charges they were going to press on what the media was calling the Wonderland Abduction and the man behind it.

Gordon didn't know much about who this Tetch guy was. From preliminary findings, Jervis Tetch was some kind of technology genius. Much of the stuff went over his head, but a quick summary was that this man was working on some kind of mind control technology. Interviews from the men and women found in the fake Wonderland were depressing as no one remembered how they got there or what they were doing.

Maybe that was a piece of evidence there. Some of those people had had missing persons reports filed on them. Maybe this wasn't one charge of kidnapping but several? And what else could they do?

"So far, I think the kidnapping charges are going to stick," Dent began, confirming what Gordon was guessing. "A lot of it is circumstantial, but if Alice decides to testify, we can nail him. There's also the conspiracy charges and the defacement of property, should the Duchess decide to press charges as well."

"When do you think you'll publicize this?" he asked.

"Once the psych evals come in," Dent grumbled, crossing his arms.

Now that was a point of contention. When he was arrested, and came back to consciousness, Tetch had not gone quietly. Demands to be released were the least of it. There was all sorts of stuff about stopping time and desperate cries for Alice; Gordon was unsure if it was fake or the real deal. He had to be sent over to Arkham Asylum to be assessed for his ability to stand trial. If the shrinks thought that he too far gone, that man would never be admitted into a court of law.

It was the whole knowing the difference between right and wrong matter. There was a bunch of legal stuff behind it all. The last thing they needed right now was for Tetch to get off with insanity before claiming it in court.

"I really don't like it," Dent commented, as he strolled over to the window.

"What don't you like?"

"This is the third costumed individual that's been sent over there. First the Joker, then Crane, and now Tetch. I don't know about you, but I got a bad feeling about it," the attorney explained. "If this catches on, you better believe there's going to be a lot of crooks and con men trying to get into Arkham to avoid a stay in prison. I want to make sure that this Mad Hatter wannabe goes straight to Blackgate; Arkham's a pitstop and nothing more."

Gordon nodded. Arkham was not a prison; it wasn't built to be such a thing. Plus the security there left much to be desired. Because of that, Gordon didn't sleep as well as he did due to a certain clown locked up there who could probably escape any time he wanted. The fact that he hadn't so far...was miraculous in a way.

"I'll make sure every rock is turned and no shadow ignored," Gordon stated. "I have my best on this one, Simmons not being a factor at all."

"Bad memories?" Dent asked, and the commissioner knew what he was referencing.

"No child deserves to go through something like this," he replied.

* * *

What was he thinking? This wasn't an episode of CSI; none of them were trained professionals either in forensics or detective...ing. They weren't...they weren't supposed to be doing murder investigations!

Barbara of all people knew about police protocols for securing a crime scene. Her father had made time for that, at least. With every second that passed, a crime scene became more and more contaminated. Her father had made sure that in the off-chance she discovered or happened to get involved with a crime, she could at least do her best to preserve any evidence until the proper authorities arrived to take over.

She had never thought she would have to use those skills, as rusty as they had become from disuse. With the direction Tim was trying to pull them in, it seemed like she was going to have to dust them off.

Time was not a luxury she had to do that. Why, you may ask? That might have to do with the fact that the three of them were back at the scene of the murder. She did not approve of this, and especially did not approve of the fact that Tim had his phone filled with goddamn pictures of it! Did he realize what kind of risk he had put himself in? What if, she didn't know, someone who shouldn't be using that phone picked it up and found those pictures? Did he know what trouble he would have been in?

Hell, it could have exposed everything about the Batclan. Okay, she might have been exaggerating there, but the possibility still existed!

Nonetheless, Tim, or Robin as she should be calling him now since they were in uniform, was pushing ahead. You know, she was kinda scratching her head at that name he chose. Robin. Why'd he pick that name? It didn't pick up with the theme she had been trying to establish with their group. She was Batgirl, an homage to the Batman, and Dick was Nightwing which had its aspects of being dark and mysterious, so how does Robin, something after a bird that flies around during the day fit in?

Dick had asked him once, and Tim had gotten all philosophical about it. Something about heralding in a spring of justice following a winter of crime. Then there had been a joke about a red robin covered in blood and then Tim had doubled down. At that point they had backed off because it wasn't worth the trouble.

Except now, they were balancing on a line in which trouble was on both sides.

"Okay, I've found a few things out, and I want to share, also show, you guys what I've found," Robin said as they three of them stood outside the alley.

Nightwing nodded, his body slightly tense as he kept an eye out for anyone who might come across them. Bar—Batgirl kept an eye out too, but most of her attention was on Robin.

"So I was going through the pictures—"

"Which you should delete," she interrupted.

"After we solve the case," Robin replied before continuing, "and, look, see these?"

He held his phone out to her, an image of the dead man's hands showing on the phone's screen. Robin had zoomed in on them, so some of the clarity was smudged away. However, she could still see the blood on them, so she didn't really think much had been lost.

"What about them?" she asked.

"See the cuts on his hands? Lower arms? Those are defensive wounds. Our guy fought for his life over there." Robin jerked his head towards the alley.

"And he lost. Anyone could figure that out," Nightwing pointed out.

"Yeah, but once I figured that out, I started to look at the alley itself. There was a fight here. A very big one. There's blood in places that I don't think the cops have gotten too. Or have missed. Look at this."

Now she was seeing the wall of the alley. More specifically, a portion of the brick wall that was maybe seven, eight feet up in the air. You could barely tell, but there was some dark spots against the brick, spots that didn't look like any tiny holes or natural discolorations.

"And then here. Yes, I know it's a trash can, and yes, that's a big dent in it, but look at it. Looks like someone either punched or kicked it in. I think it might have been used as a shield at some point, maybe knocked away or thrown."

"Okay, so our guy fought like hell. What does that mean?" Nightwing cut in.

"I think he knew who his killer was," Robin stated.

"Or it could have been a mugger. There happens to be a lot of those in this area," Batgirl pointed out.

"Muggers who only have knives or guns on them. I didn't find any sign that a gun was used here. No bullet wounds, or holes in the wall. Nothing. Plus, the defensive wounds tell me that our guy might have known how to fight back. Given that, do you think some mugger with a knife would have stood a chance? I don't think so. If this guy knew enough self-defense, or had enough training, a guy with a gun wouldn't have matter much."

"And that means?" Nightwing, again.

"The killer also knew what he was doing, knew how to fight too," Robin answered. "You can kinda tell, from the...major wounds our guy had, the killer has some skills, a lot of them I'd imagine."

"So why kill him?" Nightwing asked.

"I don't know, I haven't anything about who our guy is," Robin replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Batgirl? You find out about it?"

"No. I haven't gone to visit the station," Batgirl replied. "Everyone's still going crazy about what happened to Alice Simmons."

"No thanks are necessary," Nightwing quipped.

Yeah, Nightwing was still riding on that high. Batgirl supposed it wasn't everyday you saved a girl from falling to her death, the Batman hot on her heels. Though, Nightwing had shared some choice words with her afterwards. She was still a bit sad that they were still not approved of. Still, she had said that she wasn't going to be retiring any time soon. Nightwing's intervention revealed something quite telling, to be honest.

The Batman couldn't do everything. There were things that were beyond even his grasp. He needed help, more than he would ever admit.

And she was determined to be that help, the kind he needed.

"Don't get yourself a big head," she told him. "Next time might not end well, if you get my meaning."

"I got it already, be careful at everything," Nightwing grumbled. Hmm, a bit odd how he spoke there. Normally it would have spoken a bit more jokingly, but he didn't sound like that. Maybe it was her imagination.

"If you've got it, maybe we can focus on something a bit more important right now?" Robin suggested. "We're going to need to find out this guy's name, who he was, everything, before we can start coming up with theories as to why he'd dead. We know how, and when, and all that, but not why. Maybe it would explain why he was killed the way he was."

Glancing into the alley, Batgirl nodded in agreement. She did not want to be here anymore. She was kinda getting a bad feeling about it. "Yeah, sure, I'll see what I can find. Give me your phone while you're at it."

"Huh? Why?" Robin began holding his phone a bit protectively now.

"To get a fresh pair of eyes on those pictures you took, that's why," the costumed woman said exasperatedly. _Stop being so thickheaded already, sheesh_. "Besides, I want those pictures off your phone and somewhere else more secure," she added. "The last thing any of us need is for someone seeing them and getting the wrong idea, alright? Now hand it over."

A gloved hand was held out to the younger vigilante, waiting to receive the device.

Robin eyed her suspiciously and when she didn't give in, reluctantly gave the phone. "You better not ruin it," he muttered.

"Did you say something?" Now she was glaring at him. _I heard you, do you have the guts to repeat it?_

"I didn't say anything."

 _Yeah, that's what I thought._

"Alright, so patrol before hitting the sack?" Nightwing suggested as he toyed with one of his batons.

Yeah. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Work off some of the tension that was starting to fester. Besides, she could punch a few guys in the face, guys that more than deserved it.

* * *

Stanley Adams was a middle man in the McKillens Crime Family. He'd been steadily raising up in the ranks for awhile now, up to the point he was allowed to broker deals with prospective clients.

Tonight was such a night. Adams was currently in the middle of negotiations with some Asian guys. Both sides were standing in the middle of a large warehouse, giant wooden crates forming a large pathway in which they stood. On one side was Adams and his men, two bodyguards each with a briefcase in hand. On the other side stood his Asian contact, he with three men with black garbage bags in hand.

Though their voices were low, Black Canary was able to make out drugs and money—so that made this a drug buy. The setup couldn't have been more perfect either. Knock out all these goons and they had Adams looking at ten years easily.

It helped too that her plan was going smoothly enough. One of Katana's contacts had given them this address and time, and the three of them had taken to knocking out all of the outside guards, which left the only resistance being Adams and his friend down there.

"We've got a good vantage point," Huntress suddenly whispered to her. The Birds of Prey were crouched on top of one of the stacks of crates, giving them a very good look at their quarry. Already Black Canary could see the purple-clad vigilante was itching to go. Patience wasn't her forte, but she had known then when they had teamed up.

It was just something she had to figure into her plan.

Still, that didn't mean that Huntress didn't have a legit point. "Who do you want: Scots or Asians?" the blonde asked.

Tilting her head to a side, she could see the dark-haired woman smirk. "Who do you think?"

"Asians it is." Black Canary then looked to Katana and nodded towards her. "You take out Adams and his boys."

"What you do?" the Asian woman questioned.

"I'll make a loud distraction," she replied, "and you two go in and clean this up."

Seeing a sharp nod from Katana, Black Canary quickly looked to Huntress, who made the same gesture before she began to creep off. The two of them would be getting into closer spots, which would give them a better shot at taking out the hired muscle before they became trigger happy.

It was strange really; for some reason the blonde woman found herself taking on more and more of the tactical aspects of their activities. As far as she was concerned, Huntress was still the leader, but it seemed the purple-clad woman was relinquishing more and more control as time went. It was obvious it bothered her, but Black Canary found that if she incorporated H's mindset into the plan, it did a lot to smooth things over. The woman was a bruiser, no question, so sneaking around and silently taking people out was not her forte. She was more a "act now, ask questions later" kind of girl—good for making a dramatic entry, but not for making sure you left the scene unharmed.

Hopefully this current harmony would last, though Black Canary wasn't holding her breath. Sooner or later Huntress was going to say something and that would be the beginning of something new and different, with or without the purple-clad vigilante.

Because she still had the vantage point, she was able to see her comrades get into position, ready to strike. It also helped they were putting their hands against their ears for protection.

Taking that as her cue, Black Canary sucked in as much air as she could before she began to scream. She could practically see the air blowing away from her and towards the ground as she unleashed her shrill scream. The blast slammed right onto the mobsters, all of them dropping what was in their hands as they reached up to protect bursting eardrums. The moment Black Canary let up her Canary Cry, Huntress and Katana jumped into action.

Bo staff drawn and extended to its full size, Huntress charged in, unleashing an H-shaped shuriken as she did so. The projectile collided with the side of one of the Asian bodyguard's head, knocking him out cold before he even hit the ground. With a twirl of her staff, the purple-clad vigilante dropped to the floor, sliding over it as she swung her weapon out. Her feet connected at the ankles of one guard while her staff swept the feet right out from under the other two men. All three collapsed to the ground in separate heaps.

Turning her head, Black Canary saw Katana reaching her own prey. She had yet to draw her sword, instead opting to use her hands as she landed right behind Adams' men. Grabbing either by the side of their heads, she roughly slammed their skulls against each other, rendering them unconscious in short order.

A sharp _crack!_ made the blonde woman jerk her head back to Huntress. The purple-clad vigilante was crouched next to one of the bodyguards, her hand pressed against the back of his head. She must have bashed the man's face into the cement floor, which would explain the crack she heard. In the meantime, H was forcing herself to stand at the same time as she was swinging her staff.

Black Canary would have watched to see where and how hard the dark-haired woman hit her next target, but she was curious to see what Katana would do next. It turned out to be rather disappointing really as she saw the red-and-yellow-clad woman putting Adams in a chokehold, the man struggling against her until he slowly went limp. Katana then lowered the man to the floor, finished with her task as she looked to H.

Standing up, Black Canary hopped down the stack of boxes until she reached the floor. By then Huntress had finished beating the crap out of the Asians, standing surrounded by their unconscious bodies as she smirked widely as she rested one end of her staff on top of her shoulders.

Ignoring the sight, the blonde woman went directly to the trash bags and opened one up, seeing plastic bags filled with a white, powdery substance. Oh yeah, they had some major dirt on Adams now.

"Good work, girls," Black Canary congratulated. "Time to call the cops and have them clean up the mess."

"That's another dirtbag down, who's next?" Huntress asked.

Reaching one hand up, Black Canary pulled at the glove on her other hand, revealing a watch wrapped around her wrist. "If we hurry, we can get to Arbor Street for Lonny's shakedown."

Lonny was another McKillen goon, though he was small time in comparison to Adams. He mostly worked in the racketeering side of things and there had been whispers that a small store on Arbor was his latest shake-up.

Huntress merely gave her a disapproving look. "From wolves to mice, huh?"

 _From a big fish to a small fry,_ Black Canary read between the lines. It was pretty obvious the dark-haired woman wasn't pleased they weren't going for bigger fish, but there really wasn't much they could do to change that. "This was the biggest deal they had going tonight," the blonde replied with a little annoyance in her voice. "Their next move won't be for another couple of days, so all that's left is their racketeers."

Huntress rolled her eyes and turned away. "Right, fine," she brushed off before she began to stroll in the opposite direction. "When's Lonny about it make his big mistake?"

"Half an hour," Black Canary answered. "If you want, you and Katana can go break a couple of his bones. I'll stay here and make sure Adams here gets arrested."

"Suit yourself. Coming, Katana?"

Glancing to the Asian woman, the blonde watched as the other woman returned the look, but then gave a small nod. "Coming."

A minute later Black Canary was alone, a cell phone in hand as she waited for the police dispatch to answer her call. This was an opportune moment for her, mostly so she could unwind from the growing tension between them.

This was all part of the plan they had set up, the three of them. Instead of going after every crime they could, they had decided to focus all of their energies on one of the mob families, the McKillens. It was a big reason why they knew all of the McKillens' operatives by name, the result of weeks of recon. They had taken out enough of the lower-level goons to be on the crime bosses' radar, though lately they had been moving up to the mid-level fish.

Sure they had caused some disruption, but it was slow going this way. Huntress was slowly losing her patience with this approach, even if she was the most eager to actually take down one of the families. Something big needed to change the dynamic or this limbo they were in would topple them all.

 _"Gotham Police Department, how can I help you?"_ a voice suddenly buzzed out of her phone receiver.

Shaking her head to remove the depressing musing she had, Black Canary then spoke, "I'd like to report a crime-in-progress."

* * *

A few thoughts about the previous chapters. The Wonderland scenes were based a lot on the Disney movie, which I actually bought to get a better idea of just how these characters behaved. Aside from the Disney-fication, I think the characters came out well. I even wanted the Mad Hatter to reflect the more carefree movie character until his little world was threatened by inaccuracies from the March Hare and interruptions from the big, bad Bat.

Also, for those who aren't as familiar with the story, the Duchess is also a character from the book. When doing research, I was looking for possible highrise names that would work within a city like Gotham, not to mention draw the interest of the Mad Hatter.

I had toyed with the idea of including the White Rabbit from the New 52, but AV convinced me otherwise since there wouldn't be too much of a point to include her. Also, the idea of people running around in animal onesies was an entertaining thought. Though the Carpenter was based off of the one in the comics. You could saw we picked-and-chose which Wonderland Gang members to use, at least ones that held a shelf-life beyond an appearance or two.


	7. Blackgate

As the sun rose over Gotham, Gordon found himself not at the station but on the other side of the city. More specifically, crossing the river that separated the city from a large, squat building that was ringed with a very large, very thick wall.

This was Blackgate Prison.

It had been years in construction when Gordon had been a mere sergeant, but ever since it had housed the worst of the worst of Gotham's criminals, from mobsters to murderers to whatever else came their way. Last he heard, there was even a cell made specifically for a certain ice-wielding maniac.

Normally, Gordon would have liked to avoid this place. There were a lot of people in it that didn't like him for one reason or another. There would be a lot of people who wouldn't shed a tear should the worst come to pass on him. However, the commissioner had business here; specifically two things: one was a meeting he had scheduled with the warden and the other…

...it was never an easy thing to witness an execution. In this case, it involved a person from over a decade ago, someone whom Gordon himself had been involved with the investigation and arrest. It could be said that it was the first case he had been assigned to, one that had been deemed impossible to solve. He had solved it, and now the perpetrator was about to be injected with a lethal cocktail of poison and pain killers after years of litigation and appeals.

That man's luck had finally run out. There was not going to be a last minute call from the governor. In less than an hour, it would be over.

Before Gordon stood a very impressive-looking gate, one that towered over everyone with guard towers adjacent to it. Men armed to the teeth gazed down at him, or more likely the roof of his car as they held rifles with some high caliber ammunition reading to make him Swiss cheese should he make one wrong move.

Beside his car was a guard station where a security officer was verifying his ID, no expression on his face as if he did this day in and day out. Gordon was no one special to him, just another face entering the complex behind him. The commissioner tapped on the steering wheel as he waited, tempted to whistle, but chose not to go that far. This wasn't a courtesy visit he was doing.

"You're clear," the officer said at long last, handing him back his ID. "Keep to the left and enter through the south entrance. The warden's expecting you."

He nodded back and shifted the gear to drive. The gate in front of him slowly opened, moving at a crawl as if to frustrate anybody trying to get in or out. It couldn't go slow enough for his taste, and once it was clear enough, he drove on through, following the officer's instructions.

In a place like Blackgate, you wouldn't have thought there was a parking lot inside. There was. The thing was, there was a second wall inside the first one, and this one separated the complex from the parking lot. There was a checkpoint just outside the lot where again, he stopped and showed his ID before being allowed further. High above, there were guards with their handheld artillery, watching his every move.

Blackgate certainly felt secure, he'd give it that. Hopefully, that security would never have to be tested.

Once parked, he locked the car behind him as he made his way to the south entrance. Again, another checkpoint, except this one had an escort. Big guy, looked very rough, and had a very gruff way of speaking. Very abrupt, just a simple, "Follow me," and he was taking long strides to the execution chamber. The commissioner had to quicken his pace if he was to keep up.

While he tried to, Gordon was unable to draw up a mental map of the prison. His escort was not moving slow enough for that and if he didn't want to get lost, he needed to keep up.

His escort led him to a small sitting room where folded chairs were assembled. Some of the seats were filled by people the commissioner didn't recognize and he didn't stare as he took his seat. There was a glass window in front of them, a curtain on the other side blocking their view. It was several minutes before the curtain was drawn to a side, revealing a macabre scene.

This hadn't been the first execution he had ever witnessed. Probably wouldn't be the last. It still didn't change the fact that it always left Gordon a little squeamish. It was one thing to be killed on the streets, a single bullet to the head, quick and efficient. Also unpredictable. You could never tell when it would happen, so whether it was deliberate was questionable.

Lethal injection, that was another story. A needle was jabbed into the convict's arm, connected by a tube similar to an IV. The man was strapped down to a table, giving the impression of powerlessness. There was no suddenness about it; you knew it was going to happen. Unlike the random bullet, everything here was calm; there was no heart pounding action or split-second decisions.

It was almost eerie how it all went. Smooth. Uneventful. Almost...boring. Not always the case in a botched execution, but this one was anything but botched. Standard, really.

Needless to say, the commissioner was out of there as soon as he could. He had things he needed to take care of and waiting around to speak with the other attendees was low on that list. Besides, there was someone else he really needed to speak with. Naturally, he was escorted there.

Before he knew it, he was at the warden's office and if Gordon recalled the name of the person within correctly, he had a very good feeling that whatever was about to happen wasn't going to be friendly. Without warning and before his escort could knock on it, the door opened by itself and revealed the familiar sight of Blackgate's Warden.

She—that's right, she—was shorter than him and dressed much more casually that he was. Where he was in a suit and tie, she sported a long-sleeved shirt and what looked like blue jeans. Somehow, she was more...imposing, he supposed the word was. That probably had to do with the severe gleam in her eye.

He was serious about saying her eye. Only one was visible. Over her right eye was an eyepatch, something to cover an injury he knew all too well about.

"Buzzer beater," she started. "I was just about to come look for you. I'll take it from here, Lyle."

Lyle, the man who had escorted him before and now after the execution, nodded stiffly and spun on his heel. Maybe it was his imagination but Gordon could have sworn that Lyle was stomping away.

"Warden Zorbatos," he greeted.

"Commissioner Gordon," she greeted back with no little mockery. "Don't just stand there. Get in here."

Her full name was Agatha Zorbatos and once she had been a part of the GCPD. Though a woman, she had been quite...heavy-handed when it came to arrests and the like. She put most of the men to shame with the way she could put down a man twice her size. Then there was her personality. No nonsense, merciless, and unpleasant.

If there was a definition for police brutality, you would find her picture next to it.

It didn't help matters that he had been the one that kicked her off the force. That had been four plus years ago. In that amount of time, she had found other employment and had risen through the ranks quickly until she was, you guessed it, the warden of her own prison.

"Close the door behind you," she ordered as she stopped in front of her desk and leaned back against it. Crossing her arms, she added, "Let's get this over with as quickly as possible. What do you want, Gordon?"

"You need to be somewhere?" he asked as he obeyed the command.

"No. I just don't want you in my prison any longer than necessary—unless it is to lock you up in it. Sadly, I don't think that today's that day," she stated bluntly.

Okay, obviously there was some bad feelings here. Best to go along with it and get it over quickly.

"Jervis Tetch. Heard of him?"

"I don't pay attention to much outside of Blackgate unless it's for fresh meat. Yes, I heard about him."

"I suppose it would please you that the D.A. is doing whatever he can to make sure that Tetch calls Blackgate home?"

"If that isn't good news. I'll have a cell made up just for him," Zorbatos retorted. "Is that all you came here to talk about? You're wasting my time if it is."

"I'm here to make sure that Tetch is sent here, make no mistake," the commissioner told her. "The problem is, you've heard about the new precedence that's being set, right? Perps are trying to be declared insane so that they get a ticket to Arkham and not Blackgate. Both Dent and I are worried that Tetch is going to try the same thing. That's why I'm here, occupying your time."

"I know where you're going with this Gordon," Zorbatos cut in, the light streak in her hair becoming more prominent as she glowered at him. "Blackgate is a prison, not an insane asylum. The men here aren't sick, I don't give a shit what the shrinks say. They are here for reparation, not rehabilitation. They have a debt to society, see, and I mean to make sure they pay it."

"If Blackgate does not offer psychological services, a case can and will be made that Arkham would be a better place for that lunatic," he argued.

"Then maybe that's where he needs to go," the warden shrugged. "It's not my problem if you boys on the outside can't get your shit together and do your jobs. I'm not here to hold your little hands. You do your jobs and I'll do mine."

Gordon could have pressed the matter, but he had a feeling that it would get him nowhere. It was a well known fact that once Agatha Zorbatos made up her mind, there was no changing it. Continuing to argue would only make things worse, not better.

"Sorry for wasting your time," he said instead. "I'll leave you to your job now."

"You know, I should thank you," Zorbatos said unexpectedly, stopping the white-haired man in mid-stride. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in charge of my own prison. That's the only thing I'll ever be thankful to you for. But don't think that I'll be your team player because of it. Don't come back unless it's really important, Gordon. Or you do something bad enough that they send you here."

The commissioner resisted a grimace, not wanting to show any sign that she was getting to him. He knew that this was going to be unpleasant from the get go but…

No. It was over with now, even as he was leaving her office. He had done what he could here, even if it was nothing. Still, at least he could tell Harvey where they stood here. Perhaps Zorbatos had given some good advice, though.

If they wanted to send Tetch here, they needed to handle it personally.

* * *

It had been a long time since Vicki Vale had visited Wayne Enterprises. That was in no small part to the aloof owner and CEO keeping his distance from Gotham Society, not to mention their brief fling—if you could call it such.

This was but a stop in her long search for truth, justice, and a story that would seal her name in the annals of great journalists. After her cameraman had snapped pics of Gordon and Dent meeting with the Batman, Vicki had been scouring the city for sources that could back up the story. The police were stonewalling in most of their responses and the DA's office was full of lawyers and future politicians that knew better to speak with a reporter. Regardless, she had managed to get her hands on a few "anonymous sources" and was well on her way.

From what she collected: Gordon and Dent were spending a lot of time together. That wasn't damning in and of itself. Law enforcement was expected to work with other branches of their community. The more intriguing bits though, involved Dent heading to the GCPD after work hours; it was worth mentioning that these visits happened multiple times per week too.

Coincidentally, these visits also began right after a mysterious signal light had appeared atop the GCPD building. While this wasn't a big secret anymore, its appearance just after the Halloween 2.0 fiasco signified that it was hastily put together.

Or so she thought.

Having combed through the Gotham Star's archive, Vicki had found what she believed to be evidence of two lights. The first bat light had been smaller, crudely made even. The current one was refined and indicated serious thought behind its design. That led the redhead to believe that someone had made this bat signal, hastily lit it up, and then decided later on to improve it.

And what better place to find better parts than Wayne Enterprises. A Freedom of Information Act threat had gained Vicki access to records that showed a monetary transfer from the GCPD to Wayne Enterprises for the purchase of a skylight. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce what that purchase became.

It shouldn't have surprised Vale that she would end up here. There wasn't much that Wayne Enterprises wasn't apart of—be it directly or indirectly—so it shouldn't have been surprising the company was involved with this. However, whether Bruce Wayne was in the know was something else entirely.

And Vicki Vale wanted to be the one that broke the news to him if he didn't.

A surprise meeting wasn't going to work this time, not after the world's largest corporation beefed up its security following all of the attacks it received on a yearly basis. It also didn't help that there wasn't a current relationship between her and Wayne to facilitate a quick meet. So she did things legit this time, scheduled an appointment through Wayne's secretary, and arrived early for a good impression.

Professionally dressed in a white pantsuit, Vicki sat outside the double doors that led to Bruce Wayne's office. A bored expression played over her face as she waited, blatantly ignoring the secretary that returned the favor. It was past time for the meeting to start, but that was okay; the redhead had expected as much since it was a normal tactic for powerful people to use to show who was in charge. You were waiting on them, not the other way around.

A beep went off on the secretary's desk, causing her to actually do something. Vicki could make out a muffled voice, most likely from a speaker box, to which the secretary responded, "Okay, Mr. Wayne."

Then the secretary addressed the reporter. "Mr. Wayne will see you now."

Vicki didn't bother to reply to that, simply standing up and striding over to the double doors. With practiced ease she grabbed the door handle and twisted it, pushing it open and stepping into the office.

Not much had changed since the redhead had last been here. Every shelf, every picture, every piece of furniture was right where it had been. Pity. Still, all of that was inconsequential since she was focused solely on Bruce Wayne; handsome, debonair Bruce Wayne.

"Good morning, Bruce," Vicki greeted the billionaire as she approached his desk, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of it and crossing one leg over the other. Bruce merely stared at her, not the least bit fazed by her entrance. "It has certainly been awhile."

"If you say so," Bruce replied, much to the reporter's annoyance. "What can I do for you, Ms Vale?"

"Oh, just answer a couple questions I have for you." Vicki didn't bother to pull out a notepad or recorder. She didn't have a photographic memory or anything like that, but she didn't have too many questions that had to be asked. Besides, she had a man to charm. "But that can wait for the time being."

"I'll warn you I don't have that much time to spend with you," the dark-haired man told her. "I have a meeting in fifteen minutes and—"

"But I was told I'd have you for an hour," Vicki immediately protested. That was a tiny fib, but she had used it before to great effect, if only to throw her prey off their game.

Bruce was no different. "Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized, looking every bit apologetic. "I suppose my secretary must have overbooked me, the silly girl. Perhaps we can reschedule for a more flexible time for you."

Hmm, so maybe Bruce was different. That was okay, that wasn't only trick Vicki had up her sleeve. "I wouldn't mind another time," she answered, "so for now I'll keep this little talk brief."

For a moment Bruce stared at her, though the redhead wasn't able to tell what he was thinking. Establishing a second meeting usually left her interviewees flabbergasted, caught in a trap of their own making. Looking at the billionaire before her, at most she could say he was stalling for time, at worst that he was merely annoyed or amused—he was so hard to read.

Then, "I'd prefer we get this out of the way here and now. Just don't expect a long answer."

And he had walked right into her trap, albeit a longer way around. "Of course, Bruce. Would you mind telling me why your company provided a skylight with a bat symbol to the Gotham Police Department?"

This time Vicki was sure Bruce was amused. "Is that really all you wanted to know?"

"For the time being, yes."

"Well, I can't say that I know to be honest. So many products are made and shipped out of here that I simply have no idea what comes and goes."

"Really? You'll have to excuse my disbelief since I know you signed off on the purchase."

Vicki half-expected Bruce to freeze, caught in an obvious lie. The other half, considering what she had seen thus far, wasn't taken back by the actual response of the dark-haired man shrugging his shoulders. "I sign off on all purchases and a lot cross my desk each day. Excuse me if I don't remember that particular one."

"So you blindly sign anything that comes to you?" Vicki pressed, her eyes hardening as her nose nearly twitched in interest.

In return, Bruce smirked smugly at her. "That's hardly a well-kept secret, Vicki. Most of Gotham either knows or suspects that how I run things."

Damn him. This wasn't the end though. "Then I suppose you aren't aware of Commissioner Gordon and the D.A., Harvey Dent, have been using that large gift of yours frequently."

"I suppose they are. That bat light in the sky is a pretty telling giveaway."

"So would you be surprised that those two are using that signal to contact the Batman and arrange meetings with him?"

Bruce blinked his eyes owlishly. "Are you going somewhere with this or—"

"Of course I am," the redhead interrupted. "Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that you don't understand the ramifications of this," she said, a venomous barb in her tone. If Bruce noticed, he didn't show that he did, which was fine with her. "The fact that two prominent members of law enforcement are doing this indicates that they're sanctioning the actions of a vigilante, which is against the law that they have sworn to uphold and protect. And with the right spin, that can also include Wayne Enterprises."

A frown appeared on the dark-haired man's face. "Now that's quite a—"

"A reach, Mr. Wayne? Not necessarily. You see, you did provide them with that Bat Signal, so one can infer that you agree with its use."

"You can't blame Wayne Enterprises on how a customer uses one of its products—"

"Perhaps, but considering the order was for a skylight with a bat in the middle of it, it would be _very_ hard for you to argue otherwise. And especially after that fiasco with Senator Simmons' niece, that isn't a very enviable position for you."

Finally, at long last, a look other than amusement and nonchalance appeared on Bruce Wayne's face. A dark expression appeared on his face, undercurrents of anger boiling beneath it ready to be unleashed. "I think it's time for you to go, Vale."

"Before I can tell you how I can spin it in another way?" Vicki pouted. "Now, now, Bruce, that isn't like you. I mean, the last time we corroborated on a story, I bailed you out of a very tight spot, what with the Elliot-Hagen mess. Then again, your actions following that did leave something to be desired."

Bruce stared at her sourly. "What do you want, Vale?" he practically growled. It caused a shiver to run up and down the redhead's spine in a good kind of way.

"Oh, not much. The Robinson Ball is coming up and as you're very well aware, only the creme a la creme are only invited. An invite and a date would help your cause very much."

There was a moment's silence before the Wayne billionaire spoke, "I'll think about it."

"I wouldn't think too much about it for long," Vicki warned him as she uncrossed her legs and began to stand up. "This isn't a story I intend on sitting on for too long if you catch my meaning."

"I understand. Now if you don't mind, I do have that meeting to get to."

"Of course, of course, I'll see my way out." And with that, Vicki turned her back on Bruce and strode confidently out of the office. A smirk grew on her lips as she passed through the doorway, the doors closing behind her. She had Bruce right where she wanted him and that could only mean good things going forward.

Now she had two other men to meet—a crude commissioner and a silver-tongued attorney.

* * *

It hadn't been easy to do, but Barbara had pulled out all the stops. Just because she was the police commissioner's daughter, it didn't mean that she could walk into the station and ask for information about a specific murder investigation. Too easy to come under suspicion herself. Too dangerous to do as it risked Dick and Tim's lives as well.

Fortunately, when computers are a hobby that you get really good at, it opens up a lot of possibilities.

One such possibility was hacking into the department's network and getting her hands on the information Tim wanted. She felt all sorts of dirty after that. It was her first time, and it was the cyber network for the police! Where her _father_ was the commissioner of all things! It felt like she was betraying him somehow.

Of course, she didn't let those feelings stop her, but it didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

Since the report and discovering of the body, the cops had made some headway on the case. Like finding out the dead man's name, the actual cause of death, and anything else that forensics may have picked up on that wasn't obvious to the naked eye. She got everything related to the case, and steadfastly kept it to that. She had gone this far already and was determined to go no further.

Still as Barbara, she met back up with her comrades in arms to share what she had uncovered. They kept their meeting up on a rooftop so as to minimize the chances of anyone coming across them as well as keep an eye out for any criminal activity while they were at it.

"His name is Sebastian Clark. Male, fifty-nine years of age, six foot four, and apparently has some money. Like a lot. Like enough that the three of us wished we had it. Cause of death: bodily trauma compounded with blood loss resulting from several arteries in the torso. Nothing on what got to him first."

"How'd they figure out his name?" Tim asked. "His face was gone, so were his teeth, and his hands too. How'd they get the ID?"

"A genius in forensics had the bright idea to check his feet," Barbara answered. "When this guy was born, they used to make footprints on all the newborn babies. Kinda like fingerprints, in a way. And these fpptprints are all on record too."

"Not bad," Dick whistled. "Anything else?"

"The investigation is still ongoing. A lot of evidence was lost thanks to maggots having their way with the body," she replied. "Stop by my place later, Tim, and I can show you all the official stuff."

"Well, the killer didn't succeed in hiding Clark's identity," Tim remarked.

"That doesn't bring us any closer to finding the killer. Not yet, anyway," Dick stated. "Barbara said it herself, this guy has some money. I bet it's the kind of money you have to make a lot of enemies to get. So our suspect list, if there is one, hasn't gotten too much smaller."

"Compared to eleven million people, I'd say it's gotten much smaller," the smaller vigilante retorted.

"Guys, you do realize that someone with some wealth behind him was found dead in an alley, right?" Barbara cut in. This was not a time for male ego to go at it. "Why would he be found in such a place?"

"Where are you going with this?" Dick asked.

"For someone like Sebastian Clark, wouldn't you think he'd be holed up in a place more comfortable? Like a penthouse? Or a suite? Or an estate? Why some dirty, nowhere alley in the downtown residential district?" She counted each point by extended a gloved finger.

"You think there's a chance that that alley wasn't random?" Tim guessed.

"You yourself pointed out that the fight happened there," was her reply. "Also, did anybody see anything that hinted it was a fight that happened outside of it?"

"So it was either an ambush or he was followed," Tim said, bringing a hand to his chin and pressing his thumb against his lips.

"If it was an ambush, the killer had to know that Clark was going to show up there," Dick pointed out. "Think we can cross that one off? It's too specific and we don't have any proof that that's what happened."

"Then that leaves that he was followed." You could see Tim's brow furrow. "Or chased?"

"Chased for over a mile? In a city like Gotham? Someone would have noticed. I think Clark tried to keep himself hidden, but from who?" Now she was getting in on the guessing game.

"If he was followed, that means he went to that alley on purpose, wouldn't it?" Tim asked aloud, not expecting any answer. "So what was in that alley that a guy like Sebastian Clark would want to go there?"

"I guess we're going back to that alley," Dick said. "Unless that cops found something out about it? Is there anything special about that place?"

"Nothing in the files said anything about it," she shrugged.

"So there's a good chance they didn't find it, or there's nothing to find," Tim suggested. She could see the resolve in the younger man's face and knew exactly what he intended to do. "I don't think that that alley was by accident. There's something there, maybe something that the killer was after and when he couldn't find it, took it out on Clark."

"That wouldn't fit with the evidence. The killer is in full control. He did try to remove every identifiable feature Clark had. It could be that all the killer wanted was Clark's life. then did his best to try and hide it." Again she was putting in her two cents.

"We're not going to be getting anywhere by arguing this out. I think it's fair to say that we're going back," Dick spoke, making his decision known. "Let's see if we can find anything to hints at any of our theories. Now, my lunch break is going to be over soon, so I need to be getting back. Tim, I think you still have school. I don't think cutting classes are going to be helping you any."

"I'm top of my class. I think I can cut a class or two," Tim retorted good-naturedly. "But I don't think my folks will see it that way. See you guys tonight."

"Don't do anything like get yourself killed on the way back," Barbara called after him. You know, that was the thing about college, more time was available to you so long as you didn't have to spend it all studying. "Same goes for you, Dick."

"Should we start calling you Mom now?" Dick teased, hurrying away at the look she gave him.

She was going to have to start training him now to hold his tongue, wasn't she?

* * *

Helena roughly opened the door to the Birdcage, letting it close behind her as she strode into the main room. Dinah and...uhh, Katana were already sitting, waiting for her arrival.

The dark-haired woman wasn't in the mood for this. She had just spent a day full of little kids running roughshod on her nerves and she still had a mountain of papers to grade. Having to come out here because these two demanded her to just pissed her off even more. With a glower, Helena grabbed a nearby chair and hauled it in front of her, setting it with its back facing the other two women. Taking a seat in it, her legs straddling the back, Helena rested her arms on top of the chair and barked, "This better be freaking good. Do you have any idea how much work I still have to do?"

"You're as pleasant as ever," Dinah replied to her, souring Helena's mood further. The blonde-haired woman had it easy running some dumb little flower shop downtown, so she could close shop whenever she felt like it, unlike her.

"I have about a hundred papers and worksheets I need to grade, BC," Helena snapped irritably. "Coming down here early is not the best way for me to get that done."

"Then you're going to enjoy this." At this, Dinah shifted in her seat to face the dark-haired woman. "Tatsu got some good intel on the McKillens."

Oh, so that was Katana's name. She was totally going to forget it by tomorrow. Still, this little tidbit did very little to sooth her temper. "And what, pray tell, is so damn important you had to call me right after school ended?"

Dinah leaned towards her, a glint in her eye. "There's a big job going down tonight and both McKillens will be there to observe."

Okay, suddenly Helena felt herself become interested. Her expression sharpening with interest, it was her turn to lean forward in her seat, as much as the back of her chair would allow her. "When and where?"

At this Dinah looked to Tatsu...ke? Katana, whatever. "Big shipment at docks," the Asian woman answered. "Shipment transferred to warehouse in Industrial Area. That where McKillens will be."

"So I'm thinking we tail the shipment to the warehouse," the blonde-haired woman added. "We'll follow the same plan as the Adams bust: take out the sentries and then go inside. We find a vantage point and go from there."

That sounded like an okay plan and Helena was about to nod her agreement when a thought occurred to her. This led her to frown. "But the McKillens don't own any warehouses in the Industrial Area."

That made the other two women pause. When it came to knowledge on mob family matters, there was no one with better access to it than Helena Bertinelli—not something she was proud about, but it did prove very convenient when she needed quick intel on someone. It was standard fare for crime families to get entry points into the city and holding areas for their illegally-gained goods.

That was where the McKillens differed though. Sure they had an entry point—that being the docks—but where they kept their products was an entirely different matter. Logically the Industrial Area had plenty of places to stash stuff, but as far as Helena knew, none of those places were owned by the McKillens. They only had a few private places, like pubs and hardware stores; nothing that could hold a big shipment that Dinah and Katana seemed to be hinting at.

"Are you sure they're taking it to the Industrial Area?" Helena pressed then.

Katana nodded her head eagerly. "Yes, shipment will go into that part of city."

"And the dock is definitely one of theirs?"

"Yes."

Helena's eyes glazed over as she considered this. "The McKillens have three docks, so we'll have to split up, each one takes a dock. Look out for any unusual activity even if it's not going on at our site."

The other two nodded their heads in agreement. A brief moment of silence passed before the dark-haired woman let out a sigh. It looked as if they were going to have a little planning session, what with their once rock-solid intel going to crap. Now where were those dock maps?


	8. The McKillen Bust

Short skirt, check. Blouse with top buttons undone, check. High heels that added a couple inches, check.

Vicki Vale was ready.

When it came to first impressions, the redhead was a master. She knew how to draw attention and how to use it to lull her prey into a false sense of security before she blasted them with questions they weren't quite ready to answer. Men were especially vulnerable to her charms.

Admittedly, her current ensemble was geared more to horndogs like Bruce Wayne, but men were men; if you gave them the briefest of glimpses, they were practically putty in your hands.

Harvey Dent would be no different.

She had met the man a couple times in the past, but he had never held much interest for her. Though District Attorney was a big position, every reporter in the city wanted a word with him to the point everyone knew what words would be coming out of his mouth before he even said them. It made for boring journalism and Vicki avoided such drivel.

It was late, the sun having set a while ago. Yet, Vicki wanted this meeting all to herself and it helped that she knew Dent kept late hours at the office to the point where he would be the only one left at lockup. Breezing her way through the empty office, tonight was no different.

Like a beacon, light poured out of one of the offices, the letters HARVEY DENT, DISTRICT ATTORNEY painted onto the glass of the door. It was cracked open and the redhead could make out some sort of movement in the office.

Reaching the opened door, Vicki peaked through the crack and saw Dent pacing around the room, a phone against the side of his face as the cord trailed behind him. "I know, I know, you want Tetch rotting in Blackgate by the end of the week, but you know as well as I do, Senator, that the justice system—"

What was this? A phone call to a senator? About Tetch? Who was...oh, right, the Alice Simmons kidnapper. Which made this to be Senator Simmons, who was trying to put some added pressure on Dent. If she didn't know any better, she would have said this had been going on for weeks—most likely it had been if Dent's tone was any indication.

The DA paused in mid-sentence, clearly interrupted by the caller. "Then you know that even if I get a conviction there will be appeals, Senator." A pause. "Hey, I didn't make the system, I just play ball. If you want to blame someone, blame our founding fathers."

A smirk appeared on the dark-haired man's face. "I know you know, but seriously, you need to step back and let me do my job. These daily calls of yours aren't doing anything except making my people nervous and that won't give your niece the justice she deserves." His eyes narrowed then, his smile dropping into a frown. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Senator. Bark and howl all you want, you and I both know I'm just humoring you at this point. Unless you have anything more constructive to say, I highly suggest you put your considerable energies to more useful pursuits. Goodnight, Senator Simmons."

By then, Dent had come to a stop next to his desk. The moment he gave his farewell, he put the phone back down on its stand, effectively ending the call. "Moron," he growled lowly, causing a shiver to run down Vicki's spine. Now that wasn't a tone she had heard come from Dent's mouth before.

However, this did give her the perfect opportunity to engage the DA. Straightening out her posture, she pushed the office door open, faintly hearing the creaking of the hinges as she did so. "Sounds like you have your hands full," she called out.

Dent jerked his head up and looked towards her, a flash of surprise appearing on his face before he schooled his features. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. Vale?"

Vicki strode towards the DA, coming to a stop right in front of him. "Oh, nothing much. I figured Gotham's most ardent law enforcer needed some company tonight; it seems I was right too."

The corner of Dent's mouth twitched up. "While I appreciate the gestures, I was just on my way out. Sorry you had to come all this way for nothing."

"I wouldn't say nothing," Vicki countered. "You see, I have a few questions and I think you're the man that can answer them."

"Perhaps another time. I really do have to be getting home."

"And would that home be atop the GCPD?"

Dent raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I'm aware that you've been spending quite a bit of time on the police department's roof," Vicki explained, shifting her weight from one leg to another. "Specifically with Commissioner Gordon and that big Bat Signal too."

"Well, I do have to work with Gordon," Dent rebutted. "And we both like the air up there. Helps us think."

 _Thinking, huh?_ "Does that thinking include the Batman as well?"

Dent didn't even hesitate as he answered, "Never."

 _Liar, liar, pants on fire._ Vicki had to fight down the urge to grin. She was _so_ going to enjoy rubbing this blatant lie back in Dent's face later. "Then what's the point of that signal light if you're not paging him?"

The DA gave her a look that clearly indicated that he thought the woman an idiot. That wasn't a look the redhead liked, resented even. "That isn't a big secret, Vale. Gordon likes to light the thing up every so often to remind the city that the Batman is out there."

The reporter could practically feel her nose twitch with interest. "So Gordon approves of the Dark Knight's activities?"

"No one in the legal system approves," the lawyer answered with practiced ease. "But it is a fact that the criminal element is wary of the vigilante known as Batman. While we have every intent on capturing and prosecuting the Batman to the full extent of the law, there is no harm in using his reputation as a tool."

Vicki rested her hands against her hips as she gave a disapproving look to the man. Who did he take her for, a moron? "That's indirect approval and you know it. You just admitted to that!"

Dent shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "If that's how you interpreted, there's nothing I can do to stop you. But if that's the story you're working on, then I think you really need to consider picking a different subject. Right now I can pick out so many inconsistencies and holes that your paper would have to publish an apology for publishing it."

 _Asshole._ If he thought this was over, he had another thing coming. "That still doesn't change the fact that of the night of Alice Simmons' rescue, you and Gordon met with the Batman on top of the GCPD. It's too much of a coincidence that Batman was last seen apprehending Dr Jervis Tetch barely a couple night later. So what happened, did you give the vigilante that case in the hopes he'd crack it for you?"

Dent's eyes widened. Oh yeah, she had him dead to rights and he knew it. She almost wanted to see how he'd try to worm his way out of this one.

And then the DA's face darkened. Leaning forward, a chilling, deathly tone came from his mouth. "I'd be careful with the accusations you throw around, Vale. It could get you in a lot of trouble."

Vicki actually had to swallow nervously at that. What the hell was this? Some intimidation tactic? Well, it wouldn't work on her! "A-and the truth would set me free, Harvey."

"In a court of law perhaps, but we both know there are other ways the truth can be used against you. Drop this witch hunt of yours, or believe me I will make sure your journalism career dies a pitiful death."

Dent then leaned away, crossing his arms across his chest. He then spoke in a much lighter, though still strict, tone, "I believe you know your way out, Vale."

Whatever words Vicki could summon died like ash in her mouth. She tried to say something, anything, but eventually settled for a sharp nod. Spinning around on her heels, she quickly left the office, not even sparing a last glance at the District Attorney. The only thing she had on her mind was:

 _What the hell was that?_

* * *

Helena proved to be right about the McKillens. They didn't own a single warehouse in the Industrial Area; yet, that's where they and their men went after picking up a shipment from the docks. Long rectangular crates had been loaded into two moving trucks, which were followed by a rather expensive-looking car.

Yeah, way to keep a low profile, mob bosses.

However, the convey didn't go deep into the Industrial area, instead stopping at a pub just at the outskirts boarding what was commonly called the Amusement Mile. The pub was called the Lucky Irishman, though it foregoed the obvious leprechaun mascot and the color green. Instead it was a dull, dark tavern that low-lifes gathered at. It wasn't on the level of the fabled Stacked Deck Bar, but it was definitely working its way there.

And unlike the other bars, there was quite a bit of security around. For a good two blocks men with machine guns stood guard, doing patrols along the rooftops. They were the first to go as the Birds of Prey split up and took them out.

Black Canary had just dropped her last guard, coming to a stop across the street from the front of the Lucky Irishman. There was a crowd at the doors, mostly blue-collar guys from the nearby factories. The only women around the blonde could see were just as burly as the men, or were hookers standing at the street corners in skimpy, yet gaudy outfits.

" _Trucks are at back,"_ Katana suddenly spoke through the earpiece, causing Black Canary to perk her head up. She was definitely on the wrong side of the building—damn. No telling where Huntress was either, but she was undoubtedly making her way to the back now.

Glancing around, Black Canary made sure she was the only conscious person on the rooftop before she took off to her right, traversing the roof until she reached point she was forced to leap over an alleyway. Thankfully this rooftop was lower than the one she had been on so she landed safely on the new building. Hurrying over this roof, she headed to the next alleyway and stopped.

Looking down, she saw her motorcycle right where she left it: behind a dumpster out of sight of prying eyes. Using a nearby fire escape, the blonde soon reached the ground, hurrying over to her motorcycle and getting on it. With a switch of a key, the engine roared to life.

Reaching behind her, Black Canary picked up her helmet and put it on, making sure the visor was down to disguise her face. She was already taking a gamble riding towards the backside of the tavern, but this was the fastest way available. Hopefully anyone that saw her wouldn't pay her much mind.

Balancing herself as she awkwardly walked her bike to the mouth of the alleyway, she checked both ways for traffic before she pulled out onto the street, her engine revving as she turned the throttle. Quickly placing her feet in the stirrups, the vigilante rode down the street and made a left, making her way done a couple blocks before she took another left. Finding another alleyway, she pulled into it, grimacing as she saw there wasn't much place to hide the bike. It would just have to stay out in the open, unfortunately.

Coming to a stop, Black Canary killed the engine and kicked out the kickstop, propping the bike up as she disembarked. Pulling off her helmet, she placed it back on the back of the vehicle before she began making her way towards the back of the tavern.

By the time she reached it, Katana and Huntress were there, standing lazily in the middle of a bunch of unconscious men. "Took you long enough, BC," the purple-clad vigilante called bemused. "You missed all the fun."

Black Canary glanced at the fallen men, quickly noting the growing bruises on their faces and the cut marks on a couple of arms—the result of Katana's sword. None had arrows sticking out of them, so that was a good thing. "I figured you two could handle yourselves," she retorted as she turned her attention to the back of the tavern. Unlike the front, this was dirtier, less polished, though that wasn't saying much. It was obvious this part wasn't for customer viewing.

The door was wider than your average door, probably so that large shipments could be moved in without trouble. It was likely the door led to a supply room for the tavern's inventory minus whatever the McKillens hid here. That had to be somewhere else in the building.

"Are either of you familiar with this place?" Black Canary then asked.

Huntress shrugged her shoulders as Katana shook her head in the negative—great. Just great. "So we're going in blind," the blonde couldn't help but groan.

"There must be another level, like a basement," Huntress brought up as she looked at the tavern. "No way does a family keep its merchandise in a small shack like this. There's probably a service elevator close by, far from where any customer could see it."

That wasn't exactly a good thing. If there was a service elevator, chances were that was the only way to the lower floor. Stealth wouldn't work too well here. A look to Huntress showed the dark-haired woman had similar thoughts.

As if to reinforce it further, Katana said, "Seems our plan needs change."

"Oh, I have an idea," Huntress replied, an excited gleam in her eye that made Black Canary edgy. Just what brilliant idea did the purple-clad vigilante have?

"Follow me, ladies," the dark-haired woman ordered before she confidently strode towards the tavern, Black Canary and Katana giving chase as they hurried after their comrade. Reaching the door, Huntress grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, pulling it open to reveal a supply room just as the blonde woman suspected. Fortunately there was no one else present among the shelves and boxes of what looked like bar food.

And as luck would have it, off to the left was a gate of metal mesh, revealing an elevator shaft just beyond it. Moving towards it, the three came to a stop at the gate and did their best to look just how far down the shaft went.

"They're definitely down there," Huntress spoke as she practically touched her masked forehead to the gate.

"What now?" Black Canary questioned her.

In answer, the dark-haired woman reached to her belt and retrieved two small canisters. "Smokescreen," she replied. "When they open the doors down below, we drop these down and fill as much of the elevator with smoke. Then we strike."

"What about their guns?" the blonde pointed out.

"We just need for a couple of goons to get on the elevator first, that way whoever else is down below at least hesitates."

"Okay, but there's no telling how long this deal is going to last," Black Canary pointed out. "Meanwhile we're sitting up here waiting for some busboy to come in here for a box of hamburger buns. We can't wait for too long—"

Almost as if to answer that concern, there was a sharp _scrreeech!_ Jerking their heads, Black Canary and Huntress saw Katana shove one of the shelves in front of a door opposite to the one they had used to enter. The Asian woman continued to push until she was satisfied, pushing off the shelve and heading towards the back exit. Silent she stopped, waiting for anyone to use the door.

"Well, that's one way to handle that," the blonde remarked.

"Any other questions?" Huntress then asked in a falsely sweet voice. It was obvious she knew the black-clad fighter was running out of complaints.

Begrudgingly, she replied, "No, I think that's it."

"Good, now go stand guard with Katana."

For a split-second, Black Canary felt the urge to glare at her haughty comrade, but being the supportive teammate she was, she merely turned and made to walk towards Katana. At least that was her intent until she heard a very familiar sound.

Gunfire.

Jerking around with her eyes wide, Black Canary looked towards the elevator shaft. Huntress was doing the same, though her hands had shot up to the gate and were roughly shoving it out of her way. Drawing closer to it without the gate in their way, the two women looked down the shaft and listened carefully.

With every passing second, more and more gunfire was being made, coupled with muffled screams. Looking to each other, Black Canary and Huntress gave the other a questioning look before glancing back down. "Something's going on down there," the purple-clad vigilante stated a moment later.

That's when Katana appeared at their side. "What is it?" she asked sternly.

"Only one way to find out." Without waiting a second, Huntress stepped into the shaft and dropped towards the bottom, her costume causing her to blend in with the darkness.

"No, damn it," Black Canary hissed a moment too late. What the hell was Huntress thinking?! That wasn't exactly a short drop and the dark-haired woman hadn't exactly pulled out a grapple or cable or, or...something! There was reckless and then there was this!

And unfortunately, she had to do the same. Stepping out, the blonde plunged down the shaft, cold air blowing by her as she fell. However, she wasn't about to hurt herself like Huntress seemed intent on doing. Reaching out, she grabbed onto the main cable that hoisted and lowered the elevator, the thick, metal line beginning to burn against her gloved hands due to the friction. Her descent slowed somewhat and that was the biggest reason why when she landed on her feet on top of the elevator at the bottom of the shaft that she only felt a brief jolt of discomfort rather than breaking her legs outright.

This also served to move her out of a possible collision with her teammates. As crazy as she thought Huntress had acted, the purple-clad woman had actually used her cape as a parachute to slow her fall, at least that's what Black Canary thought if her friend's hands were any indication. They were clutching the purple cape towards the edge and Huntress didn't look any worse for wear.

That's when Katana landed near Black Canary. A quick look showed the Asian woman had also dropped down, but considering the blonde hadn't heard the sound of scraping metal against glove behind her, she didn't think her red-and-yellow comrade had used the main elevator cable as well. She was fine in letting that go though, chalking it up to some special samurai/ninja skill Katana most likely had. After all, she was the one that seemed most skilled out of the three of them and there wasn't any real way to know what she was fully capable of until she had to show it.

The sounds the three had heard on the floor above were louder now, multiple guns being fired clearly being heard. Spotting the emergency hatch nearby, Black Canary stepped towards it and knelt down, grabbing an edge and prying the small door open.

Louder gunfire and shouts assaulted her ears a second later, though the blonde resisted the urge to flinch from the sudden blast. Without hesitating, she dove into the opening feet first, landing on the floor of the service elevator and quickly bolting to a side. Huntress and Katana soon joined her, the three of them staring out into chaos.

There were small stacks of rectangular crates stretching towards the opposite of the room. A couple of handcarts with more crates sat haphazardly in the middle of the makeshift aisle, a couple men each using them as cover. There were a few other men standing with their backs to the women, firing continuously towards the other side of the room.

That was until one of the standing men suddenly flew up into the air, screaming with fright as he dropped his gun. All of the men froze at that for a second before they all aimed their guns up to the ceiling. Before any of them could pull a trigger, the sound of metal clashing against metal rang out, multiple men dropping their weapons as they clasped at their hands.

Something whizzed by Black Canary's face, which was followed by a dull _thunk!_ a moment later. Whipping head around, the blonde stared at the sight of a batarang sticking out of the elevator's wall.

So he was here too.

As if to confirm this, a black wraith flew by the entrance of the elevator grabbing another goon and forcing him out of sight with a panicked scream. "You've got to be kidding me!" Huntress suddenly seethed. "He's taking our bust!"

Those words seemed to be a cue for the purple-clad woman as she charged forward, lashing out with her arms as she slammed her elbows against the back of the neck of two nearby men, knocking them down as they let out pained cries. Katana was the next one to move as she launched herself into the room. However, instead of drawing her sword, she let loose a series of throwing stars, sending them spinning through the air, though not at the nearby men, but the ones standing by the handcarts. Even from where Black Canary stood, she could see the thugs suddenly flinch backwards, their arms extend from their bodies as the stars pinned their jacket sleeves to the boxes.

Being the last one out, the blonde decided to take a different tactic than her companions. Leaping into the air, she drove her foot into the side of the head of an unsuspecting goon, knocking him into a heap on the floor. The moment she touched down on the cement ground, she charged to the stack of crates, scaling them as quickly as she could until she reached the top.

Not the best idea with guns around, but from here Black Canary could see what was going on. Huntress was viciously attacking the McKillen men by the elevator while Katana was finishing off the ones by the handcarts. Elsewhere there were unconscious bodies, signs of the Batman's handiwork no doubt. Head twisting from side to side, she couldn't spot the Dark Knight, but he was somewhere here too.

That's when she spotted an open ventilation grate in one of the walls. That had to be how the Bat had gotten here before her and the Birds. At least she knew of another way out of this place if the need for it came up. Yet, it was because of this she caught something most important.

Since most of the action was taking place in the middle of the room, between the two stacks of crates, that left everyone on ground level blind to the pathway between the boxes and the walls themselves. Looking down, Black Canary spotted a small group of suited men leading two women in her direction, obviously heading towards the elevators.

Ignoring the men, Black Canary focused on the women. They were both redheads, courtesy of their Irish genetics no doubt. They were both in pantsuits, one green, the other yellow. The looks on their faces weren't that of frightened hostages or panicked goons, but of enraged, thwarted women.

These were the McKillen sisters.

Instantly, Black Canary leapt off her perch, diving towards the fleeing group. There were two men out in front, drawing closer towards the landing point the blonde vigilante had plotted. Angling her body, she lashed out with her legs, doing a split in mid-air just in time for either of her booted feet to kick the goons on the side of their heads.

Both men jerked towards their sides awkwardly before they collapsed to the ground hard; in the meantime, Black Canary brought her legs back together as quickly as possible, turning her body as she did so to land on her feet on the floor. Bending her knees, she immediately went into a crouched stance, both arms extended out and low to help maintain her balance as she looked up at the halting McKillens.

"Kill her!" the redhead in yellow demanded and was immediately obeyed by the thug behind her drawing his gun out. Before he could aim it though, a dark shadow swooped out of nowhere and landed on top of him, causing his legs to buckle and the man to crumple to the floor.

For a brief moment Black Canary stared at the Batman. In fact, the McKillen sisters and their remaining guard were frozen as they focused on the Bat. Then the dark-clad vigilante moved, lunging at the thug next to him and ramming his elbow into the man's face. Simultaneously the sister in yellow reached into her suit jacket and pulled out a gun.

Instantly, Black Canary lashed out with a leg, landing a kick to the back of the woman's knee and causing it to buckle. With a cry, the redhead leaned backwards as her gun went off, firing a bullet harmlessly up into the ceiling as she fell onto her back on the ground. Lunging to the fallen woman, the blonde vigilante shot her hands forward, one grabbing McKillen by her wrist as the palm of her other hand was pressed hard just above the elbow, hyperextending the arm.

A pained scream tore out from the McKillen woman's lips, her hand bending backwards almost unnaturally until she lost her grip on the gun and let the weapon drop to the floor. Now that her opponent was unarmed it was time to knock her out, or so Black Canary planned. Unfortunately, she heard the sound of shoes scraping on the floor, alerting her to someone behind her.

Pressing down on the ground hard with her legs, Black Canary leapt off the floor, angling her body until her feet were parallel with her head in the air. Sending a kick flying, the vigilante landed a blow to the other McKillen sister, hitting her right in the chest and knocking the wind out of her lungs. The surprised redhead was stunned by the blow, stumbling backwards as she lost her footing.

That stumbling came to a sudden stop a moment later as she bumped into something big and dark. Before either woman knew what happened, Batman put the McKillen sister in a headlock, pressing his forearm hard against her throat as he slowly suffocated her. Panicked, the redhead began to struggle, kicking her feet out randomly and using her hands to claw at the Dark Knight's arm. It was to no avail though as she was slowly suffocated, becoming more and more limp until she fell unconscious.

Meanwhile, Black Canary landed back on the ground with her legs crouching again, returning her attention back to her own McKillen sister. Fortunately this one hadn't been able to do much in the few seconds the blonde had been distracted, mostly because of the redhead's hyperextended arm.

This of course left the McKillen woman completely open for attack. Quickly, Black Canary removed her hand from her foe's arm and held it above the woman's head. Flexing her arm until her elbow was prominent, the blonde woman jerked it down until her elbow slammed hard into McKillen's forehead, knocking it backwards and ramming the back of her head hard against the cement floor. Immediately the redhead went limp, obviously being overwhelmed by the stars she had to have been seeing before she lost consciousness.

Releasing her hold on the woman, Black Canary then stood up, just in time it would seem as the other McKillen woman dropped to the floor in a heap. Twisting around, the blonde saw the Batman still standing there, his white eyes staring at her.

 _The white eyes stared at her, boring into her soul. It was as if he were assessing her, trying to figure out if she were a threat, as useless as one as she could be. Then his gravely voice rumbled, "Call the police. Let them know what happened."_

Black Canary had to fight off the urge to shake her head, though it did nothing to stop the chill that ran up and down her spine. It had been a long time since she had been scrutinized by those eyes—not necessarily a bad thing.

Before she could say anything though, Huntress came charging into the scene, stopping the moment she saw the McKillen sisters lying on the floor unconscious. Black Canary watched with fascination as the purple-clad woman took in the sight before her angered eyes shot up to Batman. "What the Hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

Batman turned his attention to Huntress. "The same you're doing," he replied succinctly.

"Uhh, no you're not," the dark-haired woman retorted. "This was a bust we've been working on for months now and you just bumbled in at the last minute. We had everything under control in case you hadn't noticed."

"I see." Then without another word the Dark Knight turned and began walking away, his cape flurrying around behind him. It was rather cool to watch.

Apparently Huntress wasn't done. "That's it? No speech from you?" she yelled after him. "No apology for bungling our hard work?"

"Hey now, we still got the McKillens," Black Canary spoke up. "We just need to get the cops here and there's no way they can weasel out of the charges brought against them."

Huntress turned her attention to the blonde woman, leveling her with a glower. "Who's side are you on anyways? You've practically insisted on planning every detail of this operation, even snap at me and Katana for deviating anything, yet you're giving Tall, Dark, and Batty a pass?"

Black Canary raised an eyebrow. "You want me to go lecture the Bat?"

She received a snort in answer. "Yeah, I would love to see you do that."

The blonde vigilante tilted her head back, raising her nose up into the air haughtily. "Fine then, I will."

A smirk appeared on Huntress' face then. "You better hurry up then—before he gets too far, Leader."

Glaring, Black Canary then turned to regard the Batman's retreating back, only to see that he was nowhere to be found. The Hell? He vanished into thin air? Almost frantically she looked around, trying to spot any sign of Batman, only to find a bigger smirk on her so-called friend's face.

"He does that, ya know."

With a scowl, Black Canary walked by Huntress, ignoring the purple-clad woman as she made her way to the elevator shaft. She spared a glance to Katana who seemed to be keeping as much distance as she could from where the McKillens were lying, though it wasn't them that the Asian woman was concerned about. Ever since that impromptu meeting at the Birdcage with Batman, Katana had seemed off, especially when the Dark Knight was mentioned. She hadn't talked about it and neither Black Canary or Huntress were pushing to find out, though right now it seemed that talk would have to happen soon, especially if they were going to be running into the Bat more often.

That said, she had a vigilante to hunt down.


	9. Beware The Court Of Owls

If you put enough pressure onto something, you'd be surprised how fast you could get results. In this case, it was Harvey Dent putting some pressure on the legal system to get a hearing into keeping the McKillen sisters behind bars while the investigation into their activities was pending.

From last night, there were so many charges to go with: smuggling, conspiracy to smuggle, illegal arms, possession of illegal arms, conspiracy to obtain illegal arms, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. With the capture of Shannon and Erin, Gordon now had the warrant to gather more evidence from their homes and offices. Harvey was almost drooling at what he would find.

Let's not forget that, as a trump card, there was someone else who could make sure that any evidence that was destroyed or hidden would conveniently make its way to his office.

For the time being, it was up to him to make sure the McKillens, who were glaring at him when they thought he wasn't looking, were denied bail. All this hard work could not go to waste here. If they got out, there was a good chance they'd be able to hinder the investigation, an obstruction of justice charge, which was not what he was going for.

Besides, this would be symbolic. This would show to the city that they were on their way to better times. That crime lords and mobsters weren't untouchable by the law. The hope was on the horizon and all they had to do was reach out to it.

The first battle, the apprehension of the McKillens, was over and the second had just begun.

So when it came to his turn to present his case as to why bail should be denied, he brought up everything. Though the sisters behind the defendant's table were nice to look at, both of them had been in and out of the criminal justice system for years. Petty crimes until they upped the ante to murder and later a criminal enterprise. Still, evidence to show a pattern of behavior that hadn't changed over the course of years was needed. It would be a pattern that dictated what would happen should they be allowed bail. That's were killings, witness intimidation, and corruption came to play.

Also, due to the wealth they had managed to amass, they were flight risks. It was not a secret that other members of their family, who happened to make their fortune through criminal activity as well, happened to be in Ireland, a country in which the US had no jurisdiction and where the sisters could disappear. Extradition would take months if not years even if they were caught.

That point was also brought up, the flight risk argument. He went all out, used everything from the raid from the night before, the past histories, everything.

When all was said and done, you could not describe the relief he felt when bail was denied. The cherry on top was when the judge order that the McKillens be placed in Blackgate pending their trials. Judge Eckerson was his new favorite.

Making sure not to let any of the giddy emotions in him show, he watched as Erin glared bloody murder at him, all sorts of death threats in that scowl, while Shannon did her best to remain impassive. Even from where he sat, he could hear the clicking of handcuffs which was music to his ears. Then they were lead past where the District Attorney found Gordon, standing only a few feet away.

"Congratulations, Counselor. Don't go slacking off," the commissioner offered, putting his hand out. Dent accepted the shake as he stood up, facing the other man and looking him dead in the eye.

"No plans to do that yet. Make sure you get every single bit of dirt you can on them," he replied. "In the meantime, I'm going to see if I can't keep Eckerson on the bench. With today, I feel like we can keep the well-oiled machine going."

"I'd be careful about Eckerson, if I were you," Gordon said after a moment.

"Why's that?" The feeling of elation the lawyer was feeling hadn't diminished one bit.

"Ever heard the saying 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'?" Gordon asked, maintaining eye contact.

What did that have to do with anything? Enemy of my enemy? What...wait…

"He's dirty?" Dent responded softly, his jubilance popping like a balloon.

"He's in someone's pocket," Gordon confirmed. "Three guesses as to who."

Who could there be? A dirty judge was in the pocket of a mob family, definitely not the McKillens, so that would mean…

"Thorne," he stated grimly.

The commissioner nodded in agreement. "Apparently, he's not above using the justice system to remove his rivals. With the McKillens out of the way, he can pick up the rest of their operations and make them his own. Half the work's done for him already."

"Hostile takeover," Dent grumbled. "We'll see about that. We're going after him next."

"Focus on Shannon and Erin first. They could still pull an upset. They're mob bosses, not your average street thug. Even in Blackgate they can reach out," Gordon warned him. "There will be time later for Thorne. In the meantime, I have a gift for Warden Zorbatos. Hopefully this can thaw her out a bit, make her willing to listen."

Dent smirked. "Good luck with that, Jim." The other man was right, he needed to focus on what he could control right now. He was going to need to pull every legal trick and maneuver he knew to make sure the McKillen sisters remained in Blackgate for the rest of their natural lives. And if Thorne was going to help out, so be it. He was going to take that hand and pull down, taking Thorne with it. There would be another gift for their hard-hearted warden...and speaking of chilly women...

"By the way, I had a reporter drop by the other night. She was asking about our signal."

Gordon paused for a second. "Did she give you her name?"

"Vicki Vale. Ring a bell?"

Huh. That was a new look. Gordon's face darkened, simmering with repressed anger, though what it was, the attorney had no idea. You didn't get such a look unless there was history involved. Wait, did Gordon have history with that woman?

"More than one," Gordon said at last. "Don't worry about me, Dent. I know how to handle her."

"You sure? From what I recall, she was very pushy."

"Trust me, I've known Vale for longer than I've wanted. I know how to shut her down. Do what you need to do, Harvey. I'll take care of things from my end." And there Gordon went, heading out to begin his trip to Blackgate.

Hopefully he had things under control.

* * *

This alley was becoming familiar. Too familiar. Robin was almost about to say it was home away from home. He already knew what to expect: yellow police tape blocking the way off from anybody passing by, the garbage that still littered the place, and the large blood stain where Sebastian Clark once laid.

He was getting the feeling that Batgirl and Nightwing were also getting sick of the sight of this place. Well, if everything went well, maybe they would find something that made it the last time.

"Alright, so what about this place would make a guy like Clark come here?" he asked aloud, eyes scanning the alley, searching for something, anything, that could answer his question.

"Be careful," Batgirl warned. "Do your best to not mess up the crime scene. You can bet the police come out here often and they'll notice any changes."

"I'll keep an eye out for anyone coming our way," Nightwing volunteered. You could tell he wasn't comfortable with being careful and all. He was much more physical than the two of them, Robin supposed. Still, wouldn't hurt to have a heads up in case the cops did come back to survey the place.

Okay, so back to his original question. From all appearances, there was nothing here that looked like anything that somebody with a lot of money would come here for. Dilapidated was a way to put it. Filthy, another. Now, there was a few things missing, mainly evidence that the cops had collected to build the case for the killer. Any clues those objects had would have to be put aside for those that were still here.

Which brought him to the blood stain. Not only was the ground stained, but the brick wall that had propped Clark up was as well. Robin kneeled down to get a better look at the area. He didn't know what to find, if there was anything, but maybe, who knew, Clark's body might have been hiding something. It was—

"Find anything yet?" Batgirl interrupted his thought process.

"Not yet," he replied. "You?"

"Same luck as you."

"Keep looking. There's gotta be something we're missing. That the cops missed." He had a sense of urgency in his voice and he almost winced at it. _Way to go, Drake. Show that you were more desperate than anything to solve this murder, why don't you._

 _No, no self-demeaning talk, Drake. Follow your own advise and keep looking._ There was a reason why Sebastian Clark was killed here. This was his last chance to find this reason, because from the look of things, Nightwing and Batgirl weren't going to put up with it any longer. Sure, they may be on board for now, but this was their first murder case! Television programs and true crime novels could only get you so far in actual homicide investigating.

Moving closer to the large bloodstain where Clark had last laid before expiring, Robin ran his eyes over the area. So far it looked like...a large bloodstain. You could kinda see where Clark's butt sat as his blood puddled around him, then there was the blood that had run down the wall he had been propped against. Yep, there was dried blood all up in those bricks, getting into the small spaces and cracks and being all nasty.

 _Come on, Clark, give me something! Why were you right here? Why were you leaning up against the wall right here? Were you trying to hide something? Because I'm looking for that something and I'm not Goddamn finding it. Make it easier man, come on!_

Hey, what was that? Robin blinked his eyes and furrowed his brow, lowering himself slighting to try and get a better look. He couldn't really be sure, but there was some discoloration in the brick, masked by all the dried blood. Something about it...stood out. Sure, there were all sorts of round and circle shaped discolorations all over this alley, but there was something different about this one. It looked...too round…

Not wanting to disturb the crime scene anymore than he already had, Robin pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the discoloration. Now he could get a better look at it. Okay, pulling up pictures and let's see what he had here.

The more he looked at it, the more he began to frown. Whatever this discoloration was, it was perfectly round, a perfect circle if you would. There was also some kind of marking in the middle of it, but it was hard to tell since blood had gummed it up and—

"Is your phone more interesting than that stain?" Nightwing called at him, interrupting his thoughts.

Now he could feel Batgirl's eyes on him. _Thanks a lot, Ass._

"Take a look at this," he said instead, gesturing for his comrades to come closer. "I just took a picture of this; tell me what you think."

The other two vigilantes did as he asked them and were taking a good look at the picture he took. "I don't really see where you're going with this," Nightwing said eventually, looking up at him.

"What are you trying to show us?" Batgirl asked.

"I know it's sorta covered up by all the blood, but I swear, I think there's some kind of marking, but I can't make heads or tails about it," he tried to explain, becoming a bit frustrated.

"I'm really not seeing it," Nightwing stated.

"I don't know, I think I might," Batgirl replied, starting to sport a frown of her own. "I can't really tell though."

"Maybe if I could clean it up a bit," Robin mused.

"I don't think so. This is still an open investigation; you'd be contaminating the scene and endangering us," Batgirl interjected, glaring at him.

"So, should we wait until it's closed to take a closer look at whatever this is?" Nightwing asked, trying to diffuse the sudden tension.

Wait? And how long was that going to be, Robin wondered.

"Let's just get back to looking so we can leave. We've been here too long as it is," Batgirl stated. "We give it a last look around and get out of here. Who knows if there's someone already on their way."

You could definitely hear how uncomfortable she was. Batgirl wanted to be as far away from this alley as she could, and Robin could sorta understand why. The commissioner's daughter dressed up as a vigilante and standing in the middle of a crime scene, not good for all around.

Without a retort, he went back to searching, and when he was sure that Nightwing had returned to lookout duty and Batgirl wasn't looking in his direction, he returned to that brick that wouldn't leave his mind. What was so special about it? He didn't really understand it himself.

This could be his natural curiosity rearing its head, demanding to know what the hell that blood was hiding. You know, if he was careful enough, maybe he could rub enough of the blood away to get a better look at it. Make sure that it wasn't some design that was etched in from years and years of erosion.

Making sure that no one was looking in his general direction or close enough to interfere, Robin reached down and pressed a gloved finger against that curiosity-inducing brick, particularly on that masked design. Yes, he was breaking a lot of crime scene investigation rules here, even a part of him was screaming at himself to stop, but he pressed on, attempting to rub some of the blood away.

Hmm, didn't look like he was accomplishing much here. Either that or a lot of blood had covered that hidden mark up. Maybe he needed to put more pressure on it? Damn, this angle wasn't good enough to do that. Maybe if he...no, not enough pressure either. What if he...risky to put more fingers on that brick, but he needed more leverage. Damn, he shouldn't be doing this. Okay, a little more pressure. Let's press down a bit more and—what the?!

Apparently he didn't know his own strength because the brick he was working on suddenly and without warning slid back. That was the best way he could describe it. Kinda like from one of those movies where you trigger a hidden door by pressing on a loose brick and whoa!

Now it wasn't just the brick but a small section of the wall that was moving backwards before sliding to a side and revealing, of all things, a secret passage.

"Robin, what did you do?"

That was Batgirl. She did not sound young man took a quick look and—yep, definitely unhappy. Downright pissed, in fact.

"I really have no idea what just happened here," he tried to excuse himself, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Oh, you did something alright. Messed with that brick, didn't you?" Batgirl accused as she stomped her way over to him. "What did I tell you? Don't contaminate the crime scene! This damn well looks like contamination to me!"

"Shouldn't we be more concerned with that?" Nightwing intervened, coming to the younger vigilante's rescue. "Does anyone know what that's doing there?" he asked, gesturing to the now unhidden entrance.

Robin could hear Batgirl growl under her breath before stating, "I'll go in. You stay out here." Pulling out one of those handmade batarangs that Robin knew Nightwing had made as a gag gift, and a small flashlight, Batgirl cautiously made her way in, looking for any hidden dangers within.

"Aren't you going in?" Nightwing asked softly.

"You heard her," he retorted.

"I heard 'you stay out here.' I heard nothing about both of us." Robin paused and glanced up at the older male questioningly. Wait was that a...that was a wink. _Oh, Nightwing, you crafty devil._

"I'll scream if I need help," he joked as he pulled out one of his own throwing projectiles. Now this one he was kinda proud up. This one had some firecrackers crammed into it. Now don't laugh, you'd be surprised what kind of explosive power a firecracker, or in this case many firecrackers, had. At the very least it was a distraction and they might need something like that down there.

"Not too loudly. Don't want to attract any attention, do we?" was Nightwing's reply. Rolling his eyes, Robin entered the passage, almost losing his footing when he realized that there was a set of stairs practically in front him going down. Now that he thought about it, Batgirl hadn't gone straight ahead; why hadn't he been paying more attention...never mind.

Time to make up for pissing her off.

Also, might be best to pull out his own flashlight. It was really getting dark in here.

It didn't take long to reach the bottom of the stairs and the second door that await at the bottom. Now this one was wide open, most likely by Batgirl. The young man braced himself since he had no idea what he'd find in there, the least of which was his other brother...sister-in-arms. Whatever you call it, she was not happy with him.

That soon became the least of his worries as the light from his flashlight exposed a pair of fierce eyes and a mouth that looked as if it was going to go for his throat. He jumped back, unsuccessfully stifling a cry as he raised his explosive projectile up, about to throw it…

...about to throw...it…

As his heart rate began to slow, he began taking in the sight before him. It looked like what had spooked him was a stuffed animal, an owl to be precise now that he was getting a better look at it. The owl was in attack mode, beak wide open in more of a shriek than an attack, wings spread out wide, and talons extended out as weapons to snatch its prey.

"Don't touch it."

Maybe he was still under the influence of the owl's scare, but Robin was more controlled this time as he recognized Batgirl's peeved voice right off the bat. It didn't stop him from whipping his head towards her general direction, where the costumed woman was giving the deadest look he had ever seen from her.

"What are you doing down here? I thought I told you to stay up top," she stated.

"Nightwing's keeping an eye out. Thought four eyes would be better than two," he answered. She was still unhappy with him, that was for certain, and the way she was looking at him…

"Keep your hands to yourself and I'll let you look over there," she gestured to a far corner of the hidden room. Following her gesture, his flashlight revealed what looked like a desk of sorts that was meticulously ordered from the looks of things. He was about to argue, but Batgirl was still giving him that look and suddenly he found her a very generous person to not kick him out of this place.

The desk it was.

Making his way over, he was careful not to touch anything, like those framed pictures on the wall. Looked like a very old city they were depicting. Were those horse and buggies? Whatever, now that he was getting a good look at the desk, he saw the computer that rested on it.

Robin couldn't help but groan. Computers were more Batgirl's thing than his. Maybe this was why she sent him over here, because she knew he wouldn't touch the damn thing when there was someone better with them than him in the same room. He swore he was going to have to change that. Yeah, he'd start studying up on computers and one day make his own. One that could help him solve murders like Sebastian Clark's!

Until then, time to be a freaking angel. Okay, so what else was here besides a computer? Looked like some papers, a few stacks of them too. Too dark in here to read them and the light from the flashlight would only reveal so much, not to mention the strain the lack of light would put on his eyes. Was there a way to turn the lights on in this place? Would make it easier to look around, maybe see what these papers had to say.

Yet, Robin couldn't help but see that Clark was well organized. You'd think there be some clutter, what with that stuffed owl over there. Nope. Probably was anal retentive to detail or something. Speaking of which, he noticed at the corner of the desk a stand that held a white-colored, oval shaped thing that had two holes in it—that was a mask, wasn't it? A very simple looking one too. There were these prominent edges between the eyes but other than that, it was a very plain, bland-looking mask. Weird thing to be here.

Then another framed picture in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Closer inspection revealed that it wasn't quite a picture, more like a bunch of words strung together, kinda like a poem. The glare from the flashlight made it a little hard to see through the glass, but he was able to read through this poem.

Aaaand this thing didn't make much sense to him. Hey, what would Batgirl think about it?

"Hey, listen to this," he called out. Not waiting for a reply, he began reading aloud the poem.

 _"Beware the Court of Owls,  
That watches all the time,  
Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch,_  
 _Behind granite and lime._

 _"They watch you at your hearth,_  
 _they watch you in your bed,  
speak not a whispered word of them,  
or they'll send The Talon for your head."_

Robin's face scrunched up as he read the words, trying to make sense of them. "Every heard of that?" he continued saying to Batgirl. "Think it's one of those...what are they called? Nursery rhymes? Weirdest one I ever heard of."

All was quiet. Then… "Where did you find that? Did you touch anything?"

Oh yes, to blaming already. "It's right here on the wall. Like one of those knitted pictures you'd find in your grandma's home. You know, the ones without the picture but have words instead? It's right here."

Next thing he knew, the redhead was right beside him, staring at the poem. He could see her lips moving, speaking no words, but saying them at the same time.

Then, "What is this doing here?"

Wait, did she know what this was? What this poem meant?

"You know what this is?" he asked, though he wanted to force more out of her.

"It's a spooky nursery rhyme parents tell their children to scare them at night," Batgirl said at last. "Maybe Clark's really into it. I don't know."

A bit dismissive there, eh? For a second, Batgirl had sounded...different. She was hiding something, he was sure of it. How he was going to get the answers out of her was now the question.

* * *

If there was one thing Batman detested, it was being hunted. Ever since the McKillen bust, someone was after him, though it wasn't for revenge. It was one of Huntress' friends, Black Canary, and for some reason she was seeking him out.

He had largely ignored Huntress' goads, not the least bit concerned about them. While he had known the Birds of Prey had been putting pressure on the Irish Mob's businesses, the sisters' decision to participate in one of their shipments had proven to be too tempting of an opportunity to catch them redhanded. A few stepped toes aside, everything had gone well, not to mention he received another example of why it was a good thing to let the Birds continue their operations.

Unlike the Batclan, these women had training and were using well-maintained equipment—not the makeshift cables and shuriken the Batclan had scrounged together. Their chemistry together also provided additional support during their fights.

And that chemistry was currently endangered as Black Canary chased him across the city instead of staying with her partners. That just wouldn't do and needed to end.

So that was why he was standing in the middle of a rooftop, staring out into the city when he heard two boots touch down on the gravel on the roof. There was a pause before he began to hear footsteps, an indication that his pursuer hadn't expected to see him like this. Either that or she was making sure she had good footing after a rough landing.

As the footsteps drew near, Batman calmly continued staring out over the skyline, waiting to see what Black Canary would do. She wasn't here to fight, that much was certain. She wasn't trying to be quiet, instead casually strolling towards his back. While it was possible she knew he was aware of her and just wasn't bothering with any pretenses, his psychological profile of her spoke of a woman who was direct to a fault, yet understood the necessity of indirect methods.

"Batman?" he heard the blonde woman's voice call out to him. In answer, he merely turned his head to the left, regarding her out of the corner of his eyes. In a brief second he could pick out her relaxed body language, indicating she was most definitely not here to fight.

The Dark Knight stayed silent, waiting the female vigilante out to see what her next move would be. She was quick to realize that he wouldn't verbally acknowledge her, so she spoke, "We need to speak about the McKillens bust."

"What's there to talk about?" he questioned her. Was this why she had been stalking him since last night? That was a waste of time and energy especially when everything that needed to be said about it was succinctly put out by Huntress.

"Aside from your disregard for our work? Plenty." Canary placed her hands on her hips, putting her weight into one leg as the other relaxed, bending at the knee. "You ruined a lot of our preparations."

Batman chose then to fully turn and face the woman. With his cape enveloping him, he replied, "The McKillen sisters were going to be on location for the shipment delivery. That was an opportunity that couldn't be missed."

"And it wouldn't have," Canary shot back. "The Birds and I had a plan going in and we were in the middle of implementing it when you stormed in. You did realize there were sentries watching from the rooftops, right?"

He had known, and he also had seen the Birds taking them out. "You had them under control," he said. "And while you were eliminating them, I chose to go in and apprehend the sisters."

"In which you took on the entire gang. Our plan was to take them out on the elevator, where their forces would've been divided, and then finished the ones remaining in the basement."

That wasn't a bad plan really, he had to admit. Canary didn't seem to be finished though. "Do you realize that had we not come down the shaft, the McKillen sisters would've boarded the elevator while you were busy taking out their men and probably escaped? We could've lost them!"

"Yet, they didn't," he countered. "I was aware of your presence and even had they escaped, I knew you would've caught them."

"And if we hadn't been there?" she pressed.

"Then it would've been more difficult, but not impossible to bring them up on charges." Even if the sisters had escaped, Batman had the entire meeting recorded and stored on his computer back in the cave. Still, it was a distant second to having the sisters actually at the scene. It wouldn't be the first time someone escaped him and probably not the last, but he was ready for any eventuality should they happened.

Black Canary looked flabbergasted at his answer. "That's unacceptable and you know it!" She even raised a hand up from her hip and pointed a finger at him. "Had we let someone escape when you were trying to make the Birds and I quit, you would've buried us with it. Used it to show how in over our heads we were."

 _Well, when you're right…_

The blonde woman suddenly stopped, moving her hand to her head as she pressed it against her forehead. A breeze flew by, causing her hair to dance in the wind, along with ruffling his cape. Then she dropped her hand and leveled him with a disappointed look. "I can't believe I'm the one saying this to you of all people, but you made a rookie mistake."

That made Batman scowl. "This conversation is over," he growled before he turned away and began to march to the roof's edge.

"We're not done," he heard Canary say sternly behind him, coupled with her stomping after him. "You can't ignore that without our help, you would've let a Mob boss walk from a crime scene. That's unacceptable."

That made the dark-clad man pause, stopping in his tracks. "I know before the Gotham Fire you were on your own, no one really out there to help you, but times have changed. You can't fight the crime in this city without help anymore. I mean, you had that magic lady with you when you first came back." A pause. "What happened to her anyways?"

"She left," he replied simply before he turned around to look at Black Canary. "Get to your point."

To Canary's credit, she returned his stern look with one of her own. "That you don't have to be on your own anymore. There's plenty of people now out there to help, us included, no matter what Huntress says. More than ever, we have to help each other out for Gotham's sake."

Plenty of people huh? "Not everyone is capable of helping," he responded. "For every Birds of Prey, there's an ill-equipped Batclan and I am not going to encourage more weekend warriors like that."

"I'm not thrilled with them either, but they're better than most," Canary countered, once against resting her hands on her hips. "When you were gone, a lot of people came out, inspired by your example to uphold the peace you created, be it the Batclan, us, or those copycat Batmen. Everyone chipped in and that something that shouldn't be belittled."

Inspired—there was that word again. Batman couldn't help but snort at it. "You're not the only ones that have been 'inspired' by me. I don't have to tell you how that ended."

"And not everyone is Victor Fries," she countered just as forcefully. Oddly enough, Black Canary's shoulders sagged then, her head bowing as if she were considering doing something she wasn't sure she should do. "To say everyone that is inspired by you turns out to be another Iceman is like a slap in the face. To Huntress, to those kids in the Batclan...to me."

She then raised her head and looked him right in the eye. "A long time ago, I was walking home one night. I had been working at my mother's flower shop on 68th and Cedar and just closed it up. There was this alleyway I used as a shortcut loads of times, but unfortunately that night there were two men there. I can still remember the smell of piss on them and the alcohol on their breaths.

"They cornered me in that alley and I have no doubt what they were going to do to me. That was until you showed up. You landed right on top of one of them, nearly broke him in two. The second guy you threw into a wall. The whole time I just watch you thrash these guys and I honestly thought you'd try to eat us all, or drink our blood, or something.

"But then you just looked at me and told me to call the cops. Then you left, just disappeared into thin air. After that I started taking self-defense classes and martial arts classes. I didn't want to be a victim like that again."

That explained where the woman got her training from. Faintly, he did recall that scene, though it had been years. It must have been around the time Thomas Elliot was stirring up trouble.

Black Canary sighing interrupted his reverie. "So it isn't just the people that put on the mask and fight crime, it's every person you come into contact with. I can't tell you how many women I met at those self-defense classes that were rescued by you and felt the same as I did. Most wanted to thank you, still do.

"So don't blow off what you meant to this city, still mean to it. It doesn't matter what the Birds and I do, everyone will always look to you—even when you're gone."

As touching as that was, Canary's story only highlighted just how impressionable people were—for good or ill. Unfortunately, for every Huntress or Black Canary, there were ten copycat Batmen getting themselves killed going up against Mob Families or gangs. The changes he had set out for hadn't come as he intended, instead delivering results he couldn't have dreamed of.

"You should return to your friends," he spoke then, taking a step back from the blonde woman as he put distance between them.

Canary raised an eyebrow at him. "That's all you have to say? After I bare my soul to you?"

"You made your point, but the night is still young. Huntress and Katana need your leadership now more than ever."

A disappointed look appeared on the blonde woman's face. That wasn't the answer she had been looking for apparently. Regardless, this next part bore saying. "I'm not sure why you and Katana have been watching Huntress so closely, but the longer you stay with me is putting your team at risk."

That got her attention. "What are you getting at?"

"During the bust, Katana was keeping an eye on Huntress. You did too until you spotted the McKillens. There's some tension building in your ranks and you're going to have to deal with it sooner or later."

"That obvious, huh?" he heard the woman mutter under her breath. Then in a louder voice, she asked, "What would you do in our situation?"

"Addressing it directly would cause greater short-term tension, but in the long run would be more beneficial," he answered her. "Ignoring it will only work for so long until the issue explodes and that can only bring bad things."

"So do something about it? That's what you're saying we should do?"

"You're the one that's part of a team; you know the dynamics better than I do. You'll do what's best for the team or let it fall apart."

Black Canary's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like experience. Is that what happened between you and the magician?"

Batman shook his head. "No, it wasn't. I don't work well with other people.

"That's why I work alone."


	10. Assassin of the Night

There was a story that had been told in the Gotham City Police Department about the one time a mob boss had been apprehended and taken in for a booking. At that time, the department had tried to keep it a secret, when the boss was to be processed, where they would be taking him, etc.. If memory served transport had been an unmarked car and that was it.

On route, the car had been attacked and the mob boss freed. All that had been left at the seen was the burnt-out husk of the car and the bodies of dead cops executed in the streets. It was a horror story in every sense of the term. It also didn't hurt that cops on the take had informed the mob of everything thus making it so much easier.

Gordon wasn't going to take that chance. He had a convoy of at minimum five cars armed to the teeth and an untold number of unmarked ones. The commissioner had the suspicion that there was another member of this small army watching, waiting in the shadows until something happened that required his attention.

All told, nothing happened and Gordon was passing through the imposing gates of Blackgate once more. This time it was to a different entrance he was directed to. Sort of the admittance gate as it were. And there were guards there heavily armed as well, waiting for them.

The sight of these prison guards was not intimidating to the white-haired man. No, that honored belonged to the warden who had decided to greet the infamous McKillen sisters in person, arms crossed over her chest and a small smirk on her face.

"Warden," he greeted as he led the way to her, the McKillens reluctantly behind him. He didn't have to look back to know that Shannon was as stone-faced as the walls around them while Erin was scowling with the looks of an irritated cat. The twins had pretty much looked that way the whole trip, which incidentally made conversation with them very short.

"Picking up or dropping off?" Zorbatos quipped.

"Dropping off two new guests," the commissioner replied, running with the small joke. At least, he perceived it as a small joke. Zorbatos, as he recalled, wasn't much for jokes.

"It's not often the Commissioner of Gotham City escorts newbies," Zorbatos retorted. "As much as a _pleasure_ this was, you may now leave. We can handle it from here." He could hear the mocking tone when she said "pleasure."

"I noticed," Gordon said wryly. "Are you sure these two are going to last here until their trial?"

"The criminal mind knows no sex, Gordon. Blackgate has a wing reserved solely for women. These two are going to be the ones to break it in." The warden then trained her eye on the McKillens, not in the least bit impressed by them. "If you were trying to catch a big fish, I would have thrown these two back."

"You bitch," Erin snarled, looking as if she wanted to tear Zorbatos' throat out with her bare hands. Though handcuffed, her twitching fingers gave away her intent.

The Warden looked coolly at the Mob Boss. "I'm the bitch who's going to be in charge of the rest of your lives," she replied, not flustered in the least. "I was going to let you have cells next to each other since you two are so close, but I've changed my mind. Opposite sides." Ruthless and efficient, Gordon mused, for once seeing a crack in Shannon's expression.

Still, he wasn't going to intervene. If the twins wanted to make things harder for themselves, by all means. If the saying "keep your head down" applied anywhere, it was Blackgate.

"Take them away, boys," Zorbatos order, signaling that she was done here. That also meant she was turning to leave without intended to trade further barbs with him.

"Warden," he called out to her as the McKillen were led inside. "About that thing we discussed the other day—"

"I haven't changed my mind, Commissioner," the one-eyed woman cut him off. "I'll take your trash, but it's up to you to get it here. I'm not on your team and I don't want to be. If you don't have anything new to say, go before I have you 'escorted' out."

"I do have one new thing: expect to see more of me," he stated.

Now that kept Zorbatos in one spot for more than three seconds. "Excuse me?"

"The criminal justice system is more than just cops, lawyers, and the courtroom. The prison's are a part of it as well," he explained. "What Dent and I are trying to do is too important to leave you out of this. We're changing Gotham and we need you on board, one way or the other. So expect to see my face around, even if it sickens you."

"The Commissioner in the middle of a prison filled with all the people he has put away. What about that strikes you are being smart? Oh, right, it's stupid. Completely stupid. We're not going to be singing kumbaya anytime soon—and you're right, your face is repulsive to me. I didn't take you to be suicidal, but far be it from me to stop you from earning your Darwin award."

"Just so we understand one another."

"Oh, I understand. Stupid is something I'm not."

Ouch. Those were some sharp barbs, though they could be worse. More talk would accomplish nothing here so Gordon nodded his farewell for the time being and returned to the car. As he did so he passed by the ever-loyal Bullock who was giving him the oddest look.

"You know, you are married, Com'mish," the lieutenant pointed out.

"I know that," Gordon replied.

"Hope you know when you're going to be break to Sarah that you're seeing another woman," Bullock jested, teeth clamped down on a toothpick.

"When you put it that way, it sounds bad," the commissioner glanced at the man who was for all purposes his right hand.

"Just looking out for ya. Why'd you want to spend anymore time than necessary with that bitch in there...you'd have to be out of your mind," Bullock said.

"Bitch though she is, Agatha does play a key role in changing Gotham. I won't let this chance slip by us again."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hedging your bets here." Was it him or did Bullock sound a little bit too happy when he said that? "Not fully trusting a certain you-know-who, hmm?"

"You have to be prepared for anything in this town," was the only reason he gave in reply.

* * *

Barbara had been very quiet since the discovery...er, new discovery in that alley. To someone who was as sharp as Tim Drake, that could only mean one of two things.

They were about to run head-on into something that could mean their deaths or the end of the world, or she was hiding something. If he was a better man, he placed the odds on the second one.

Now, his other partner in crime, Dick, was a smart guy. Even though he shied away from all the detective stuff, preferring more direct approaches instead, that didn't mean that he couldn't puzzle out a brain teaser. With effort, he could be a regular Sherlock Holmes, but that didn't mean he like doing them.

So that meant that Dick too also noticed Barbara's silence, and more than that, he probably also had some theories as well. Tim didn't understand Dick's thinking process, but the guy could come up with scenarios that Tim hadn't even considered and yet somehow be close, if not on, the mark.

That made Tim all the more motivated to be the detective of the group, but that wasn't here nor there. What was was that Barbara had something on her mind and they were going to find out what it was.

Naturally there had to be some schedule juggling, but they managed and that was how Tim found himself in Dick's apartment along with the rest of the trio that was the Batclan. From where he lounged on the couch, he could see Barbara being all distant and all while Dick was offering some bottled water, trying to be a good host and everything.

Yeah, not gonna cut it. They weren't all bending over backwards just so they could sit here and not say what was on their minds. If Dick was going to try and finesse his way around it and Barbara was going to do her Batman impression, that wasn't going to fly.

"What's wrong?" he started the conversation himself, eyes focused on the only girl in the room. "You've been quiet since we left that place last night. What's up?"

He could see her frowning from her post by the window, even from where he was sitting. _Oh come on, Barbara._

"Your silence tells me you don't want to be here," he floated, reclining back in his seat, ignoring the pointed look Dick was throwing at him.

"We're just worried about you," Dick intervened. Good guy to the last, it seemed. "Tell us what's up. Maybe we can help."

Silence again. Okay, was their weird form of good cop, bad cop not working here? Or maybe he had spoken too soon because Barbara's uncharacteristically soft voice began to speak.

"'Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime.' Have neither of you heard that before?"

Tim found himself sharing a look with Dick. She was still on that poem thing from the alley? That was what was making her so quiet? And he had been worried about her. Still…

"What's it supposed to mean?" he asked.

Now Barbara was giving him a weird look, like he was the one not being himself. "Are you telling me you've never heard that before?"

"If it makes any difference, I haven't either," Dick came to the rescue again. "How about you tell us about it."

Now she was being pensive, biting her lip in a way that made her look nervous. Interesting.

"Barb?" Dick asked, concern all too present in his voice.

"It's a nursery rhyme." _Hm?_ "It's something parents tell their kids when they're going to bed, late at night, trying to spook them." Oh, now she was spilling. And there was more. "My dad told me it years ago. Almost forgot it. Then again, I never truly forget something." And what did that—oh, right, Barbara had a photographic memory. Okay. "Anyway, that nursery rhyme is kinda like folks' way of introducing their kids to the bogeyman. Like, if you're bad, the Court of Owls is going to get you. Are sure neither of you has heard it?"

"I was part of a traveling circus. I wasn't in Gotham long enough," Dick shrugged his shoulders.

"Tim, you've lived in Gotham all your life." Now her attention was all on him.

"I live in the suburbs. That's a completely different place than the city." That was a reasonable answer, or so he thought. Suburbs were a world all to their own.

"What else can you tell us about this Court of Owls? Why is it the bogeyman?" Dick was going all detective on them now. Hey, that was his job!

"Bogeyman aside, the Court's kinda like the Illuminati," Barbara explained. "According to legend, they are a group of the wealthiest people in Gotham and have had a hand in everything. Politics, economics, you name it. You think the mob's in charge? The police? The mayor? Nope, it's all the Court and it's been that way since colonial days. At least, according to the story."

Yeah, also sounded like a paranoid conspiracy theory. But still, Illuminati? A secret club for all the rich folk to do whatever it is that rich folk do? You could find stuff like that on the internet; you'd didn't have to go far either. Then again, Sebastian Clark had been sitting in front of a hidden door that led to a room that had a lot of stuff in it that one would assume meant that there was some truth here.

Or someone was so obsessed with it that they had picked up some random things from all over the place and believed they added up to a ridiculous story. A stuffed owl? A really plain-looking Halloween mask? Right. Like that really proved anything.

Then again, Barbara had rushed him out of the place after he had found that poem.

"So...was that a place where Clark was stashing all his Court of Owl memorabilia?" Tim asked.

"Wouldn't he keep that stuff, I don't know, in his home instead of a random, dirty alley?" Dick challenged. Stop undermining him, Dick!

"Maybe he really wanted to keep it secret?" the younger man suggested. "We didn't really get a good look around the place." He threw a pointed look at Barbara. Oh yeah, she knew what he was talking about. "I think there might be more clues in there that could tell us what was up with it."

"Maybe. But why was he killed in front of it?" Barbara wondered. Then, she spoke the last part of the poem. "'...they'll send the The Talon for your head…'"

"And what does that mean?" Again, Dick was asking the question he should have been asking. Step up your game, Drake.

"The Talon...I really don't know. If anyone ever saw one, they never repeated what they saw. Or were able to. All that anyone knows is that the Talon is what kills you, or takes the bad kids away to be punished. It's through the Talon that the Court maintains its control over the city."

"So whoever or whatever killed Clark may have been a Talon? Or someone who thinks this thing is real enough to try and pretend to be a Talon?" Tim theorized. "You know, like how there's people out there that think God or the Devil is telling them to kill people. Maybe the murderer is someone who thinks the Court is telling him what to do."

"That...makes some sense," Barbara admitted. Tim couldn't quite tell, but he could have sworn that there was some relief there. "If a person is under the delusion that someone or something is communicating with them, this person or thing could command the killer to kill whoever or whatever. The mental illness could be the reason why Clark is dead. Except…"

It really sounded like Barbara was warming up to his theory there. Then came the big but.

"What was Clark doing in that alley? Even if the killer chased him, wouldn't it have made more sense that Clark would have been found in his home?"

And there was the big hole in Tim's theory. All evidence pointed to Clark being in that alley, along with the struggle that claimed his life. A person undergoing psychosis wouldn't have led Clark there; they would have followed. When you're under a powerful delusion, intricate planning was not something that was normally done.

Damn, they were getting more questions than answers here.

"So what do we do? Are we going to investigate a so-called secret society that may or may not exist on the basis on a nursery rhyme we found in a hidden room in the middle of Gotham?" Tim questioned while at the same time summed up their little situation.

"I don't know, Tim," Barbara answered. "I really don't know."

"If we're really going to see this through, then we have no choice," Dick said at last after a period of silence. "The question isn't what we are going to be investigating, but are we going to continue?"

"Any good detective follows the trail of evidence; he or she doesn't decide on what is or isn't evidence," Tim spoke quietly, recalling all the articles and true crime books he had read.

"You guys are going to go through with this?" Barbara looked at the two of them from her perch by the window. Daylight shined through the glass, giving away how long it would be until nightfall. Tim knew that he did not look away from her her, nonverbally communicating what he intended to do. He didn't know how Dick really felt, but this was something he needed to do. Whatever it was, Barbara shook her head at them, though he could see how her lips quirked upwards. "Then I guess I'm going to have to keep an eye on you guys, to make sure you don't get in over your heads."

Alright, they were all in and...wait a minute.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the young man demanded, glaring.

"You guys can't get your tights on without my help," Barbara smirked at them. "Besides, what's the worst that can happen?"

* * *

The Criminal Underworld was in an uproar. With the change in playing field with the McKillens under indictment, that left new territory to be gained by the other crime families. Racketeering was escalating in neighborhoods all across the Amusement Mile, the stronghold of the McKillens. It was to be expected really.

And when opportunity presented itself…

"Hey man, I'm just sayin' you got a nice shop here. It'd be a shame if something were to happen to it," a thug in a leather jacket spoke, a smarmy smirk on his face. His pointed nose practically twitched with enthusiasm as he looked at the shopkeeper through squinted eyes.

"I am already protected!" the shopkeeper shouted enraged. "I have no business with you!"

"Correction, you _were_ protected," the thug countered. "See, I know you were under the McKillen skanks umbrella; but, ya know, they're going to jail, which means they can't protect you no longer. I, on the other hand, can give you what they can't. See what I'm sayin'?"

For a brief moment the shopkeeper looked troubled by this. It was obvious he had been hoping for continued protection, but the goon in front of him was making too much sense. However, both men hadn't counted on someone else's protection that night.

Batman was going to show them.

Standing atop the shopkeeper's building, the vigilante held out a bat-shaped shuriken, a cable line attached to it. At the end of the line was his grapple gun, lying on the roof next to the dark-clad man for when he needed it. Extending his arm out, he flicked his wrist as he threw the projectile sending it arcing out as it flew towards the ground. The bat-shaped shuriken began to spin towards the thug until it flew right by his legs. A moment later the cord made contact with the goon's legs, changing the direction of the projectile. With growing speed, the shuriken began swinging around the man's lower extremities, wrapping the cable around them with each pass until there was no more slack to spare.

Grabbing the cable tightly, Batman pulled on it hard, causing the thug to have his leg pulled out right from under him. A surprised cry came from his lips as he landed hard on the ground. An instant later, the Dark Knight grabbed the grapple gun and hit the retraction button. The cable immediately began sucking up into it, jerking up the thug's legs into the air and soon followed by his body.

This time a high-pitched scream came from the goon as he was hauled higher and higher into the air until Batman released the retraction button, grabbing the cable to keep it from dropping the man back to the ground. Staring at his prey through his blank, white lens, Batman watched as the thug realized who it was holding him in midair.

Then with a casual tone, the vigilante said, "So I hear you're offering protection."

"Who? Me?" the man sputtered as he dangled in the air. "Naw, man. N-not me, no way!"

"Are you sure? I clearly heard you offering it to that man below us."

The goon made the mistake of looking down before he let out a panicked cry, his body jerking around and causing him to sway. Below them the shopkeeper was looking up, his hands cupping around his eyes to focus his vision on them.

Deciding to push this interrogation further, Batman continued, "So if you weren't offering protection, you were doing it on behalf of someone else. Tell me who that is and I just might look the other way."

The thug looked up to him, a hopefully expression on his face. "Y-you mean that?"

"Your only other option is me dropping you to the street on your head. I don't think I have to tell you just how messy that is."

From his perch Batman could see the thug weighing his choices before he came to a conclusion. "Stryker. Stryker's moving in on this neighborhood with the McKillens out of the picture. He's the guy you want."

The Dark Knight stared at him, loosening his grip on the cable to drop the man down a small distance before tightening it again. "I swear, I'm telling you the truth!" the goon cried out.

"You better be," the vigilante growled. "Now this part is important, so listen carefully: this neighborhood is under _my_ protection. If I see you, your friends, or anyone else harassing the people here, I'm coming for you first and then them. And I promise you, our next meeting won't go this easy. Understood?"

The thug gulped hard before he began to quickly nod his head. "I-I feel ya, man."

"Good. Now tell that to all your friends."

And then Batman let go of the cable, sending the man falling to the pavement as he screamed. At the last second, he grabbed the line and felt the friction burn through his glove until it stopped the thug from going splat on the ground mere inches from it. Once more he let go and the goon collapsed onto the sidewalk next to the shopkeeper, who watched with fascination at the entire scene.

Detaching the line from the grapple, Batman tossed the cord away, standing up to his full height before taking off across the rooftop. He had someone he needed to visit.

* * *

Alfred Stryker was a relatively new player in Gotham. Having appeared in Batman's absence following the Great Gotham Fire, he rose through the ranks before he took over his own crime family. Now he was living it up rich in the west side of Gotham, using a mansion that had better security protocols than most Fortune 500 companies.

Walking sentries, guard dogs, electronic sensors on the windows, security passcodes, and motion sensors at the doorways were just the most noticeable of what Stryker had protecting his home. Most trespassers wouldn't stand a chance at infiltrating the mansion without triggering an alarm.

The only thing he didn't plan for was for someone who knew how to evade all of those alarms.

Moving through the hallways of the mansion like a wraith, Batman kept his guard up, constantly searching for patrolling guards or other surprise security features that were just waiting to be triggered. Surprisingly enough, he didn't encounter anyone in the halls and other security features he had expected either weren't installed or were turned off. For someone of Stryker's station, that was a serious lapse in thinking or pure laziness. Neither fit into the man's profile…

Batman came to a stop. Something wasn't right here. No active security inside the house while there were plenty on the outside; all of the rooms and halls he had encountered were dark, indicating they were either empty or an inhabitant was asleep; the silence of a house this big at this hour of the night; none of it added up to an active Mob Boss' home.

Carefully he reached to his belt and pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken. Keeping it hidden beneath his cape, the vigilante once more began moving down the hall until he was forced to make a left turn. The moment he did he spotted a door at the end of the hall, light seeping through the crack at the bottom.

This was the first sign of life he had found in this mansion and it instantly put the Dark Knight on alert. Silently he approached the doorway, slowly drawing out his shuriken-holding hand and holding it high, ready to be used.

Arriving at the door, he reached for the doorknob and gripped it tightly. Stilling his breath, he then twisted it quickly and pulled the door open, letting go of it as it flew in front of him and banged hard against the wall.

The dark-clad vigilante had barely taken a step into the room when he zeroed in on Alfred Stryker—at least what was left of him. Behind the mahogany desk, the man sat limply in his chair, his throat slashed opened and what looked like the last vestiges of blood in his body trickling out over his bloody suit. His eyes were glazed over with death as his bald head leaned back into the head of his chair.

Yet he wasn't alone.

Out of the corner of his eye, Batman spotted someone else in the room, someone dressed in black from head to toe. Without hesitation, he sent his projectile flying at the man, watching as it flew through the air towards it target.

The man ducked to a side, the shuriken sailing by harmlessly before one of its points imbedded into the wall with a dull _thunk!_ As Batman turned his body to fully face this foe and begin to charge, he was quick to note the bloody knife in the man's hand, one that no doubt was used to slit Stryker's throat.

The Dark Knight was also quick to note the obvious weapons on the assailant. A belt strap crossed from his left shoulder to his right abdomen, a series of knives being displayed from the strap. Because the man had his hands in fist, three metal claws extended above and out from the top of his knuckles; the vigilante half-suspected that had the man's hands been relaxed, the claws would only appear as garnishment, resting atop the back of the hand until needed.

A second later, the two men clashed. The assailant started out by leaning to a side and lashing out with his foot. Batman ducked to his right, dodging the kick before he threw a punch at the man's masked face. He was aiming right for the dark-tinted goggles, but his blow was stopped in its tracks as his opponent caught the fist and held on tightly.

Batman only had time to narrow his eyes at the masked man, noting the owl-like design of the mask as his foe lowered his extended leg to the ground and simultaneously bring his other hand up, his palm ramming just above the Dark Knight's elbow and hyperextending the arm.

Gritting his teeth, the vigilante drew up his other hand and swung it down through the air, hitting his own arm on the inner side of his elbow, forcing his arm to bend the way it was meant and interrupting his opponent's arm bar. With the same hand, Batman swung it at the owl-masked man, backhanding him across the face and causing him to stumble back a step. This also caused him to release his hold on the dark-clad man's arm.

Taking the opportunity, Batman lunged forward and swung his fist again, this time slamming it into the assailant's face, snapping his head to a side. However, before he could deliver another blow, the assassin put all of his weight on his back leg and leaned backwards, drawing up his leg before kicking forward, landing the blow to Batman's stomach.

Air was forced out of the vigilante's lungs, stunning him as he backed off, trying to catch his breath. That was a mistake as his opponent straightened out his body, reaching up and drawing two knives from his body strap. Throwing his arms out, he sent the knives flying at the Dark Knight, each blade penetrating him at the junction of his arm and chest. A hiss escaped Batman's lips as pain ripped into his shoulders.

Yet, his foe didn't press his attack, instead choosing to hold back and observed him. "It is not your time, Batman," his harsh, whispered voice uttered. "It is much too early for it, yet you cannot leave this place alive. Anyone who sees a Talon shall not live to tell about it."

For a split-second, Batman felt his breathing stop, his mind registering those words. A scowl appeared on his face then as he straightened out his posture, ignoring the small trickles of blood beginning to drip from his knife wounds. "You can try, but you're going to be sorely disappointed," he warned.

The vigilante could practically feel the arrogance wafting off the man. "You are wounded, your arms immobilized by my blades. Any hope of victory is forbidden to you."

Unfortunately, this so-called Talon had a point. The knives in his shoulders limited his ability to use them. However, if this assailant thought he had the upper-hand in this fight, he was sorely mistaken. While he was good—very good, in fact—he was underestimating the dark-clad man.

Suddenly, the Talon charged at him, both hands held up and balled into fists, causing the claws on the back of his hands to raise up and extend. Drawing a fist back, the assassin threw it a second later, to which Batman dodged by jumping backwards. As the claws sailed by harmlessly in front of him, the Talon threw his other fist, once more causing the vigilante to back away.

Again, his foe tried to punch him again, only for Batman to stay just outside of his claws. The next strike, however, Batman dodged to his right and turned just in time to see the Talon's claws dig right into the sheetrock of the wall and become stuck.

Continuing to spin, Batman then leapt into the air and swung out a leg, landing a kick to the back of the man's head and forcing it into the wall with a loud _bang!_ An instantly later, the wall broke and the Talon went flying headfirst through the flying debris, Batman watching as the black-costumed man landed hard on the floor moments later.

For several seconds, it seemed as if the assailant was down for the count. That changed when he began to shift about, slowly pushing himself up before he turned his head to look at the vigilante. "Not bad, Batman."

Batman ignored the compliment. Yet, before he could respond, he heard the sound of barking dogs ring out, the barking growing closer with every passing second. "Unfortunately, it seems we must stop this battle," the Talon lamented. "One man I can live with knowing of my existence; several is only inviting unnecessary bloodshed. Know my voice, Dark Knight, for I will come for you and rend the life out of you when you think yourself safe."

There was quick movement by the man's hips and a smoke cloud suddenly exploded out, cloaking the Talon from sight. Immediately, Batman backed away from the cloud, unaware if it was simply smoke or some other, potentially lethal gas.

As it turned out, it was merely smoke, the same he kept on his own person. Eyes narrowed, Batman couldn't help the annoyance he felt at his fled assassin. But then, he wasn't in the best shape to give chase, so perhaps this was for the best. Turning his head, he regarded Stryker's lifeless body before he made to leave the room.

It was because of this look that he spotted it. Lying on the floor was another of the Talon's knives, the very one Batman had assumed was used to kill Stryker. The assailant must have dropped it at the beginning of the right, most likely when he went for the arm bar.

Though unexpected, at least he came away with a lead on this Talon.


	11. Consistant Pattern

The room was bathed in shadows save for one light that poured over the man like a heavenly glow. Before him, the man could make out a semi-circle table, the silhouettes of men and women indistinguishable from one another. Though only figures in the darkness, only one thing shown from each and every person that sat there. Smooth, porcelain masks looked at him through their eyeholes and small, sharp noses creating the look of an owl's face.

Court was now in session.

Dressed in a simple black shirt and pants, the man looked at the masked court, his face empty of emotion. If it were not for his short white hair, one could have reasonably assumed he was young, full of life, and in his prime. Only two of those were still true.

"David Cain," one of the court members spoke out, his voice muffled by his mask. "Your Talon has failed."

Cain didn't bat an eye at the rebuke. "The target was eliminated, wasn't he?"

"Both of them were," a woman agreed before she countered, "but one is now under the investigation of the police and the Talon was interrupted by the Batman. One could hardly calls this a flawless success."

Cain tilted his head to regard the speaker, not the least bit perturbed. "Clark and Stryker were eliminated as per their order. Need I remind you that neither would have been necessary had the Court kept a careful watch on Clark? The Talons are not your private cleaning service."

Though dark, the white-haired man could see the indignation of the court members as their collective bodies stiffened with offense. He could make out murmurs throughout the room, but not a one of them challenged him. Though powerful and wise, this little mess was not on his head as much as they wished it to be.

There had been warnings about Sebastian Clark, from Cain no less, but those had gone unheeded until the last moment. Now his prized assassins were being used for cleanup duty for a mess that shouldn't exist. For all his years of service and loyalty, he would not accept the responsibility for this.

Still, they weren't completely wrong.

Cain cared very little about the Gotham Police Department. They could investigate to their heart's content and never scratch the surface of the truth. The Batman, though out of his league, could prove to be a complication. The Talon who failed to eliminate the Bat as a witness would need further instruction.

"Mr. Cain, we do not mean to imply disrespect to you after your decades of service to the Court. The Talons you've trained have been invaluable to us, rest assured," another court member spoke then, clearly an attempt to smooth out the growing tension. Cain didn't really care. "We do wish to know how you will remedy this situation, however."

The white-haired man turned to regard the speaker, making out the jacket of a dark suit. "Clark's body is of no consequence. Removing it from the police morgue would only invite more questions than necessary."

The man nodded his acceptance. "And the Batman?"

"He shall be dealt with soon," Cain reassured him. "Anyone who sees a Talon shall not live to tell the tale—that is a mantra that has endured since the founding of Gotham. And I guarantee you that it shall be fulfilled."

"Pray Tell, how do you intend on accomplishing this?"

That caused the white-haired man to raise an eyebrow. "You've never wished to know details before," he prompted.

"The Talon's haven't faced a worthy foe of the Batman's calibur in quite some time. One of our finest was fought off with ease it would seem. I only seek assurance that we know this masked vigilante will be terminated."

If that was the way they wanted to play, so be it. "I will be putting the Head into play," he informed them.

There was a sharp gasp before more murmuring broke out. Another court member leaned forward in his seat and asked, "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"You wanted assurance, didn't you?"

A moment of silence fell upon the room before the current speaker gave a sharp nod with his head. "Very well, we leave this matter in your very capable hands, Mr. Cain." The man then reached across the table and lifted up a wine glass and held it up. Simultaneously, the other court members did the same, picking up their glasses and holding them out in toast.

"The Court of Owls, long should it reign, beseeches you, David Cain, to rip out the eyes and tongue and ears of the witness," they all changed together, their voices mingling to form one coherent tone. "Let the night's wind carry your wings, your trials keep your beak sharp and your talons forever deadly."

The Court was now dismissed.

* * *

A frown was all Bruce allowed himself to express as he carefully ran the needle through his skin. It wasn't easy doing it left handed, not to mention the amount of painkillers running through his system to deaden the pain were having a numbing effect on his hand.

It was never a good idea for a person to stitch themselves up, or so he had been told once. Five years ago the young man had someone that could do it for him, but that was no longer the case and he really couldn't afford to go to a hospital and explain how he received two knife wounds. That left himself and his unsteady hand to tend to his wounds.

The one in his left shoulder was passable, having been the one Bruce had sew up first. Gauze with tape were patched over the injury. Now he was applying another stitch to the wound on his right shoulder and it was proving to be more difficult than he had hoped.

In the meantime, his computer was doing some very sophisticated analysis. Though Bruce wished he had been able to obtain some of his evidence without it being in him, the knives he had pulled out of his body upon returning to the cave had left him a clue to his assailant's identity. To be more accurate, they were throwing knives, custom made though there wasn't anything to indicate who had crafted them. Their craftsmanship spoke to a very skilled hand, however, and that lead him to believe that this Talon had some serious resources at his disposal.

Then again, if the bedtime stories were true, of course the Talon had the money and assets to obtain what he needed. The Court of Owls was allegedly a group of wealthy Gothamites that ruled the city from the shadows.

Bruce couldn't help but snort at that; unfortunately, that caused his shoulder to shift, preventing him from applying another stitch. Wincing, the young man waited for his body to still again before he began to run the needle through the wound's edges again.

The notion that a secret society existed in Gotham was laughable to be honest. In fact, during his travels as a teenager up until his return to Gotham to become Batman, he had investigated the Court of Owls. During a stop in London, he found that such a group existed amongst minor aristocrats with self-inflated opinions of themselves. They were men and women who believed they should be running England instead of the Royal Family; however, they could never get much traction because of the King, and were thus relegated to their minor holdings.

At least until the discovery of the New World.

Seeing opportunity, these lords and lordess sailed to the budding English colonies, helping to establish the settlement that came to be known as Gotham. Much like the Puritans in Boston, the Court of Owls was determined to make their own vision of a City on a Hill and largely succeeded. Soon they were the largest power in the region until King George was forced to acknowledge them.

Timing would prove the Court's undoing though. As the British colonists grew restless, the seeds of revolution were sprouting. Using the mutinous propaganda for their own ends, the British Army arrested most of the Court's members and hanged them for treason. Any other court members were driven underground, so the story went. All other mentions of the Court disappeared into what became the American Revolutionary War and thus came the whimpering end of the Court of Owls.

At least that was what Bruce believed, having no reason to fault the British's own reports on the matter. With the only remnants of the Court of Owls being that one poem and various Owl decorations in the older parts of Gotham, there was literally nothing to indicate the Court survived.

Bruce paused. Then again, he himself had been apart of a secret society of assassins, one that was merely a whisper in the darker corners of the world. Who was he to say that another assassin guild didn't exist in Gotham?

Glancing to his wound, the dark-haired man noted he had maybe two, maybe three more stitches to do before he was finished. Looking to the supercomputer, he observed the open window on the screen, running tests over the other knife he had retrieved from Stryker's house. Unlike the throwing knives, this knife had a longer blade, the hilt having been carved into the head of an owl. DNA and blood tests had already confirmed the blood found on the blade belonged to Stryker, so there was no disputing that.

Returning to his work, Bruce once more pierced his flesh, drawing the needle through along with the thread trailing behind it. Unlike the throwing knives, which he had determined to be of a recent creation, this other knife had been carbon dated back at least two centuries, possibly three. That put it right around the time the Court of Owls had been active, or at the very least their dying days. Where the Talon had gotten his hand on the weapon was a mystery assuming that the Court was still inactive—possibly a collector's item passed down or the assassin stumbling upon a former member's long-forgotten possessions.

Bruce paused in his musings long enough to put his entire focus on his sewing. Finishing off one more stitch and then another, he then put the needle down and placed a piece of gauze on his incision, taping it down with a roll of medical tape. There, that should take care of—

Suddenly, a sharp _beep!_ came from the supercomputer, causing Bruce to look at the screen. A new window had appeared on the screen, detailing the results of the analysis. A lot of it had to do with the blood on the knife, which wasn't too surprising.

Reading through it, a line suddenly jumped out at the young man. Leaning forward in his seat, he concentrated on what he was reading, soaking it in. There appeared to be a mineral on the blade's hilt, one that wasn't apart of the weapon's construction. That meant the mineral had been on the Talon's hand and was applied that way.

Though it was possible it was from a product meant to cleanse and maintain the hilt, the mineral's composition precluded it from such a formula. Limestone wasn't a common cleaning agent after all.

In fact, there wasn't much limestone in Gotham at all save for the quarry outside of town. Since the Justice League's involvement at the site, it was doubtful it was being used again, though that wouldn't stop the dark-haired man from making a quick trip out there if only to rule it out.

However, due to the limited use of the limestone, that meant there were only so many place it could be within the city. Quickly running through his memory, Bruce began ruling out different sections of Gotham until he came to the realization that most of the current buildings were made of concrete and marble. Buildings that had been made with limestone had long since been replaced by these newer structures.

That didn't necessarily mean it was a dead end though.

If there was one place that had gone unchanged in the city's history, it was its sewers. Aside from the introduction of power lines, cables, and subway systems, not much had been changed down there. So there had to be a section somewhere down there that consisted of limestone.

That would have to wait until the next night, unfortunately. Bruce Wayne was needed in the coming daylight hours. It would be best if he went to bed and tried to recover from the night's encounter. He shouldn't continue running tests for more clues on the Talon's knife. His body needed the rest.

Bruce ended up staying until the light of dawn began to peek over the horizon.

* * *

The door to the office swung open, Commissioner Gordon appearing in the doorway. Looking over her shoulder from where she sat, Vicki Vale gave the older man a winsome smile and greeted, "It's nice to see you again, Commissioner."

"The pleasure is all yours," Gordon grumbled as he stepped into the office, but then turned sideways as he held the door open. "Now get out. I don't have the patience to play with you."

"That's not a nice way to treat your guests, Commissioner."

"You're not a guest, Vale. You don't have an appointment with me and I sure as Hell didn't invite you here."

The redhead kept a cool head from such a cold reception. She had been expecting this since this was how Gordon had treated her for years. Still, she would not be deterred. "We do have business and I promise you you'll want to hear me out before you decide to have that ape Bullock throw me out."

"The only business you and I will ever have is one that involves you in handcuffs and me giving you your Miranda Rights."

Okay, this was going nowhere. "Straight to the point then," she said to no one in particular. "I have a story that—"

"Not interested, Vale," Gordon interrupted.

Vicki continued undeterred. "—that involves you, Harvey Dent, and Batman. How the three of you have late night meetings atop the GCPD building when vigilantism is still considered illegal and the Batman has a noticeable lack of handcuffs on him."

Gordon stared at her before he slowly closed the door. The sound of dull footsteps echoed in the room as the older man walked around the desk and took a seat in his chair. "And what, pray tell, has kept you from already publishing an article like that? You're not one to sit on a story, no matter how uncertain you are of it."

Ha, she had his attention now. "Considering how big this story is, I felt it required some due diligence. So, care to tell me how two of the city's most important law enforcers came to be talking with the most wanted man in Gotham?"

"I don't really know what you're talking about, or where you heard such an outlandish rumor," Gordon replied, leaning back in his chair. "That sounds like an awful lot of lawbreaking and neither I or Dent would stoop that low."

So he wanted to play innocent, huh? However, before she could counter him, Gordon continued, "Besides, I'd have to be an idiot to be caught talking with the Batman again. I'm sure you remember _that_ little episode."

Vicki couldn't help but smirk at that. It had been her ticket back into relevancy, snapping a picture of Gordon shaking hands with Batman and writing the accompanying story. That had led to a big Internal Affairs investigation into the Commissioner and a host of more stories for her. She rather looked at that one fondly.

"I have to say, you would be one," she agreed with him as she shifted in her seat. "So imagine how I felt when I saw a photo of your three together. Care to explain that one?"

Gordon didn't bat an eye at the accusation. "Bull," he spoke bluntly. "If you had a picture of that, I'd be up to my eyeballs in IA officers already and you'd be the talk of the town again. Seeing as how neither of those are true, I'm forced to tell you nicely to leave my office."

Vicki rolled her eyes. "Whatever you may think of me, Gordon, I'm damn good at what I do. Your stonewalling here just tells me you've got something to hide and believe me, I will find out what it is."

The commissioner leaned towards her in response. "And I'm telling you you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. This is your Iceman coverage all over again and I'm sure you remember _that_ little episode."

This time the redhead scowled. "That was a long time ago and I've learned my lesson, unlike you, Commissioner."

"That's where you're wrong." Gordon then crossed his arms over his chest. "For one, I know better than to talk with second-rate reporters like you. I also know that no matter what I say, or how I say it, you'll put it in the most outlandish light possible. Now, I have police matters that are a Hell of a lot more important than your conspiracy theory. Get out or I'll find something to charge you with, Vale."

If looks could kill, then Gordon would've been a dead man. Seeing as how they couldn't, Vicki stood up from her chair and began walking to the door. "This won't be the last you see of me," she warned the older man in a chilling voice.

"I have no doubt about that," the police commissioner agreed. "But I've been tailed by better people than you, Vale. I know you're trying to entrap me with this wild accusation and you're doing a poor job about that too." A smirk began to raise the corner of his mouth then. "Besides, Lois Lane's already done it."

If Vicki wasn't already angry, she was enraged by now, her eyes widening with hate as her face twisted into a sneer. "Fuck off, Gordon."

With an about face, the redhead stormed out of Gordon's office, slamming the door hard behind her. That son of a bitch could laugh his head off now, but he wouldn't be when she was through with him. If he wanted to play hardball, that was fine; she could play it too and a hell of a lot better than that royal bitch Lane ever could.

* * *

He should have known. It was almost a pattern at this point. Get in a year with a working arrangement that was illegal in every sense of the word, and guess who rears her head? Vale was certainly the type to pop back up to make his life difficult, no matter how long it took.

However, her little visit here had given him a lot more information that she had thought. The fact that she trying to gather information from him about his meetings with Dent and a person who officially wasn't there meant that whatever photographic evidence she had was not of good quality. Or at least questionable. She wanted to be certain she had what she believed she had.

Another thing it told him was that she had upgraded from being someone worthy of being a tabloid journalist to something that resembled an investigative journalist. Meaning she had improved somewhere down the line. When she inevitably published whatever she had, she wanted to be sure that it would be difficult for Dent or him to rebut.

Fortunately, investigative journalists had a way about them, a pattern if you will, that made them somewhat better to predict that your average tabloid scumbag. She was going to search for any kind of collaborating evidence she could find, so that meant Gordon had to do his best not to drop any.

Stonewalling might have pointed her in the right direction, but it wasn't nothing he couldn't undermine. The incident that involved IA was something he could use. An excuse that others would believe at face value.

Shaking his head, he decided that he would worry about Vale later, maybe when getting in touch with Dent. In the meantime, he had a cup of coffee entering his office along with one of the most beautiful women he had ever had the pleasure to know.

"I know that face. What happened?" Sarah asked as she handed him his cup, made the way he liked it no doubt.

"Something that's not worth mentioning. There's more important things," Gordon told her. The look she gave him told him he would be spilling later. If Vale thought she was good at getting others to talk, she had nothing on his wife.

"Stryker," she stated, getting them down to business.

The commissioner nodded. Speaking of patterns, here was one that was all but certain. Whenever a mob boss happened to die, something big always followed. For example, there was Carmine Falcone, frozen by Victor Fries. After that was the Night of Ice. Then there was Sal Maroni, which was followed by a gang war instigated by Oswald Cobblepot. Then there was Loman and the Great Gotham Fire. And lastly, Salvatore Valestra with both Halloween 2.0 and the October 27th terrorist attack.

Now, Alfred Stryker was not as prominent as any of the others named. He wasn't quite a middle tier man, yet at the same time not quite top tier. Of course, with the death of Valestra and the arrest of the McKillens, now was a prime time for anyone wanting to fill the vacuum left behind to make their move.

Stryker was certainly trying that, there was no doubt. Looks like someone decided to cut him short before he could assert himself.

"Obvious motive: someone decided to knock him off before he could become a threat," Gordon stated. "That makes a long list of suspects. At the top of it, my bet's on Rupert Thorne. He's already making a grab of McKillen territory. It wouldn't be much of a stretch for him to not only expand, but also take out any rivals, real or perceived."

"Except that's not what you're thinking," Sarah stated.

He gave her another nod. "Call it a hunch, but this might be the beginning of the next big crisis."

"How do you figure?" she asked, taking a sip of her own coffee.

"Whenever a crime boss dies, something big always follows. Without fail. Plus, if Thorne wanted Stryker dead, guns would have been involved. Bullets and bullet casings were missing throughout that house," the commissioner explained. "The lab boys already told me the cause of death. He was stabbed, his throat slashed. He drowned in his own blood. Mobsters rarely kill with knives, especially in that manner. If they can't shoot you, they'll strangle you. Something that creates the less mess to clean. Also, he was in an office, in his chair, and no signs of defensive wounds."

"Someone got the drop on him," Sarah concluded.

"So who else is out there that would want Stryker dead, and uses a knife or some kind of blade?" Gordon phrased his question. "And what about that hole in the wall? I doubt that was intentional; there was some kind of fight in that building."

"Involving someone who had the skill or strength to throw something, or someone, hard enough to create a hole that size," Sarah pointed out. "If the killer went to Stryker's armed with a blade, regardless of its size, I think there was an intention to be quiet. He had to have been interrupted at some point, most likely after killing Stryker due to the fact there was no signs of a struggle on the body. Someone came in—"

"Without using a gun, the lack of bulletholes in that room," the commissioner cut in, making his point and backing it up with an observation.

"What are the odds that both individuals were highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat?" Sarah inquired, leaning forward in her seat, coffee forgotten in her hands. "Who do we know has those kinds of skills and would have a better idea of other people with those same skills?"

There was only one that came to his mind.

"It would be against procedure..." he began, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Jim. Don't think me an idiot. I know what you're doing on the roof." Now it was his turn to be interrupted. "Throw that question out there next time you go up. It can't hurt."

Probably more than she knew. Gordon was reminded of that earlier visit from Vale. If she was going to be keeping her eyes peeled for an scrap of proof for that story of hers, meetings on the rooftop were going to be the last thing he did until either she gave up, which wasn't going to happen because she was a goddamn reporter, or something juicier came up.

With the way the pattern of crime bosses dying holding true, they weren't going to have to wait long.

* * *

Unlike the meeting with Gordon, Vicki had been sure to make an appointment with Bruce Wayne. It didn't hurt that his secretary liked the color green when it was presented in a white envelope the day before. Though her unannounced meetings with Gordon and Dent had only aroused suspicion and nothing solid, the redhead knew she was onto something.

She just needed Bruce to confirm a couple more things for her.

So when she strolled in for her eleven o'clock appointment, the billionaire stared at her blankly, unsure why was was there. "Good morning, Bruce," Vicki greeted him as she approached his desk, opting to seat herself on the corner of the wooden furniture instead of the chair. With her skirt rising up to expose more thigh, she felt it was the best tactic to use.

"I wasn't expecting to see you, Vicki," the dark-haired man responded, his eyes looking up to hers instead of focusing on the offered skin. "Is there something else I can do for you?"

"Oh, I wanted to make sure you remembered that little date of ours," Vicki decided to open with. "The Robinson Ball, tonight."

Bruce's eyes glazed over for a moment before they lit up with recognition. "That's tonight? I thought that wasn't for—"

"Oh believe me, it's definitely tonight," she interrupted him. "Good thing I came to remind you, huh? So when do you want to pick me up?"

At this, Bruce raised up a piece of paper in his hand, something she had ignored until now. "I may run a little late for that," he answered sheepishly. "A last minute business venture that I can't put off. So how about we meet at this ball, mingle with your friends there, and afterwards I treat you to a late dinner."

That wasn't what Vicki wanted to hear. Her profile stood to skyrocket by walking in with the most wealthy bachelor in Gotham and that was what she wanted. This leaving in the middle of the party was too reminiscent of the other starlets and eye-candy Bruce Wayne left with, building his womanizing legend with every departure. Vicki Vale would not be added to that list.

"I'll be sure to make it up to you as well. I know there's a charity gala coming up that—"

Well, maybe she could accept his change in plan if he was offering a second date. That would most certainly fix any damage that could be done by only leaving with him from the Robinson Ball. "I'd be happy to attend it with you," she interjected then. "I'm sure your secretary can send me all the details later."

Bruce nodded his agreement. "Of course."

"Now, I do have a couple more questions for you. Business, you know." At this the reporter shifted into her work mindset. She could deal with pleasure later. "What can you tell me about Harvey Dent?"

That question caught the billionaire by surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sure you're aware that you made a donation to his DA campaign and I'm sure you would've done some research on the man to make sure you weren't giving some crackpot your company's money and putting its reputation on the line. I just want to know what your impression is of him is all."

"Is there something you're looking for?" Bruce instead asked. "You've caught me flat-footed here."

"I'm sure Dent hasn't blatantly broken rules, otherwise you wouldn't have supported him," Vicki answered. "But I am interested in if he's bent some laws—any history of that?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

The redhead studied her subject, seeing his poker face and determining that perhaps he didn't know about Dent's past. "Well, I'm sure you're aware that associating with a vigilante is considered illegal. Such a blatant disregard of the law does make one wonder what other laws our DA may be ignoring."

Bruce sighed. "Then why don't you ask him about this?"

Vicki snorted. "You think a politician would admit to lawbreaking? I'm ashamed to learn you're that naive, Bruce. Why else do you think I'm going around asking other people about it?"

The dark-haired man rolled his eyes before he pressed his hands onto his desk, pushing himself up to his feet. "If this is all you're going to ask me, then I think it's best you—"

For a brief moment, Bruce seemed to wince, causing him to pause his words. "—leave and ask someone with more time on their hands these questions."

However, Vicki wasn't concerned with Bruce's dismissal. From his left shoulder, she could see red stains began to emerge on his white dress shirt. It was distracting to say the least. "Bruce, I think you're bleeding," she spoke softly.

Immediately the dark-haired man glanced to where the reporter was looking before he shifted his stance to hide the stain from her view. "Thank you for pointing that out, Vicki, but you really must go."

That snapped the redhead back to the matter at hand—or rather this new development. "What happened to your shoulder? You just started to bleed out of nowhere. Did you do something to it?"

"Yes, a small accident at the house, nothing more," the billionaire blew off. "My new housestaff hasn't gotten used to working in the manor so I'm having to do a couple things here and there. Ended up hurting myself, that's all."

Vicki stood up on her feet, facing the young man with her arms crossed over her chest. "You need to take better care of yourself. It'd be rather embarrassing if you start bleeding all over yourself tonight."

"Noted," Bruce replied dryly. "If you would mind?"

Turning away from him, Vicki began walking towards the office door. "I'll let you off the hook for now. But you better show up tonight."

A smirk appeared on the billionaire's face. "The entirely depends if you're just going to be asking me questions about this story of yours."

That caused the reporter to halt in her tracks. Jerking her head around, she had to fight the scowl that wanted to appear on her face and didn't really succeed. "Do _not_ even joke about that."

"You have your conditions, Vicki; so do I."

It was a solid ten seconds before the redhead gave in. Fine, he wanted to get rid of the business side of this date? So be it. "Fine, no questions."

"Good." He then had the gall to leer at her. "I'll see you tonight."

Vicki didn't bother responding to that farewell, opting to force her way through the doors and storm towards the elevators. "Oh you better, Wayne. You better."

* * *

Here's a fun fact: as mentioned in the chapter, the Court of Owls origin mirrors the history of the Puritans in British society. There is volumes on these people trying to assert themselves, especially during the time of Shakespeare, where they tried many times to censor him. Ultimately they decided that if they couldn't change Britain, they'd make their own society, which they did in Boston. It's kinda hard to see that nowadays—just imagine a Puritan trying to tell a drunk Red Sox fan what to do.

It was that attitude that I first saw the Court of Owls with when I first read about them. Did not like them one bit, especially with how long their run was as a primary antagonist in the New 52. Over time though, I fell in love with their concept and began plotting their use in this universe. It's pretty amazing just what time can do to change your opinion.

On a side note, in the scene where Gordon and Sarah are talking, there's an observation made about how a major mob boss is killed right before a city-wide crisis occurs. That was an observation made by AnonymousVoid and one I hadn't even realized was being done until he mentioned it. It's pretty crazy what slips right underneath your nose.


	12. An Owl And His Talons

The Robinson Ball was print journalism's biggest bash of the year. The who's who of journalists, reporters, and media personalities came out in all the glitz and glam that made this ball the talk of the year. It was practically the Oscars or the Grammys minus the celebrity factor.

Mingling through the throngs of tailor-suited men and gown-bedazzled women, Vicki casually sipped on her glass of champagne. It was of a different vintage than the last time she had been here, though she really wasn't too impressed. Someone was cutting corners and the drink was paying the price.

As a waiter walked by, a silver tray in hand with a few empty and unfinished glasses, the redhead placed her own on the tray and began weaving her way through the crowd. She had been here for a solid twenty minutes and she hadn't seen so much as a glimpse of her date anywhere. In the back of her head she knew he was going to be late, yet Bruce Wayne had a reputation for being right on time or being way beyond fashionably late. Considering the party was full swing, it was looking like tonight would be the latter.

The very thought disgusted her.

Glancing around, Vicki couldn't help but notice some of the bigger names here. There was Jack Ryder with some floozy on his arm, a blonde with obviously fake boobs. Oh wait, that was his wife. Jack did have a wife, right? No? Whatever, she really didn't give a care if the anchorman was married.

Oh, look over there, Frank and Liz from the office. Just peachy. They were so far down the rung of importance, the redhead ignored them even as Frank waved a hand at her in greetings. Out of the corner of her eye, the reporter could see the two lean closer together, whispering something, mostly likely about her dismissal or lack thereof of them.

They were nobodies anyway, at least when compared to the man at the center of the room. Media Mogul Rex Heinstein was practically a household name in the world of mass media. Newspapers, online blogs, cable news, and network television filled out his portfolio; he was the kind of guy you wanted to rub shoulders with to have the inside track on a job. Too bad he was an arrogant asshole, or Vicki would have tried to get a word with him the moment she spotted him. As it was she was willing to bide her time until she had someone even Heinstein couldn't outmuscle.

Vicki came to a stop as she looked down to the gold chain around her wrist. Flipping her arm around, the face of a watch appeared, attached to the chain on either side. Thirty minutes late, how long was Bruce going to take? Irritation began to well up in the redhead.

The Wayne billionaire had better show up soon, or he was going to be _very_ sorry.

* * *

The streets of Gotham weren't any place to be at night, for man, woman, and child. The gangbangers had control for the most part, sharing it with addicts and people unfortunate enough to not have a home.

Unfortunately, work had gone on later than it should have and that was why Harper Row found herself on these very streets, hands stuffed into the pocket of her hoodie, keeping her head low so no one got a good look at her. Her hood hid her purple-dyed hair and soft features from sight. If some degenerate caught sight of her, he might think she was an easy target.

Her hand tightened around the small taser she had hidden in her hoodie pocket. If anyone tried anything on her, she would be sure to make them wish they hadn't. She had a enough voltage in there for a couple good shocks. One to paralyze her attacker and the next to make sure he never procreated again.

Still, she shouldn't have been out here in the first place. If only her boss hadn't been such a dick and made her finish up the job at the substation, she would've been in her little apartment instead of out here, worrying about potential rapists. The guy didn't even have the decency to drive her home either, the prick.

At least it wasn't as bad as it used to be. A couple years ago walking the streets was basically a death sentence for anyone not dressed like a deranged clown. A couple years ago, you had to talk with mobsters for an escort and then be forced to give every penny you had for the next few months to pay them off. Harper knew, her brother had fallen for that trap.

As much as she loved her younger brother, Cullen could be naive to the point of absurdity. " _Don't worry, I already paid those guys,"_ he had said one night after getting home late. Considering his face was black and blue, most likely from the bullies at school, Harper could see why he wanted to have some tough-looking guys as bodyguards. Unfortunately, those guys came back looking for more money, the kind that neither her or her bro had. Their harassment went on for four months, each time escalating what they did to them.

And then one night it had come to an abrupt end.

Harper hadn't been there, being stuck at her job as an electrician for the city electrical grid. Cullen had accidentally gotten on the wrong bus and had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to get home, getting there when the sun had long since vanished. Unfortunately, those mob guys had been waiting for him.

As Cullen told it, they immediately began to threaten him, flashing guns and knives. Nothing he said could calm them down. And just when he thought they were going to beat him, or worse, a dark shadow had descended upon them, attacking the mobsters.

Harper had been skeptical at first, but it became very clear to her that the Batman had appeared. Ever since that night, they hadn't seen a mobster so much as look at them, much less hang out in their shabby neighborhood. Cullen had gone into a Bat-obsession for the better part of a year, collecting all sorts of Bat-memorabilia and newspaper clips of the vigilante's exploits.

It had been cute at first until Harper had gotten annoyed with how much Cullen gushed about that incident. She was thankful, don't mistake her, but she could only hear so much Bat-this and Bat-that.

It didn't stop there though. Next thing she knew, people from work had their own Bat-stories full of narrow savings and incredible feats of strength. A small part—very small, mind you—of her was jealous. All these people she knew had first-hand knowledge of the Bat and all she had was a fanboy brother. Made a girl feel left out, ya know?

So perhaps that would explain why she had done what she did this very night as she found herself a couple blocks away from home. Turning the corner, Harper trudged on, coming across an alleyway. Looking inside it as she passed by for any hidden thugs, she spotted some black mass crouching on the ground. Not giving much thought to it, she kept walking, passing by the alleyway entrance before she stopped in her tracks.

Eyes wide, Harper slowly began to walk backwards until she stood in front of the alley mouth, looking into it once more. Staring at the black thing, she couldn't help but spot the distinctive horns on its head.

 _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God._

That was him, wasn't it? That was the freaking Bat, right?! Frozen, Harper watched as the Batman shoved aside a manhole cover, the metal lid clamoring as it clashed with the ground. The Batman didn't jump so much as he seemed to slide over the sewer entrance and poured into it like some black, slime monster, vanishing from sight.

 _No way._

Numbly, Harper crept over to the sewer entrance, stopping next to it as she leaned forward, doing her best to look down without hovering over it. Disappointingly, she only saw darkness in the hole and not much else.

Still, at least she had her Batman encounter.

That was Harper's first thought, yet she felt somewhat empty. She saw him, yeah, but it wasn't like he was beating up some gangbanger or doing some cool kung-fu stuff; he just jumped into the sewers, that was all.

She...she needed more.

Swallowing deeply, Harper turned around and stepped into the sewer hole, putting her foot on one of the ladder rungs. This had to be the dumbest thing she had ever done, but there was no way she was going to miss the Bat in action.

* * *

The steady sound of dripping water splashing against cement walkways and the flowing underground river echoed throughout the sewer tunnels. Sewage flowed along the man-made river, carrying with it the waste of the city. Walking along the cement bank, Batman trudge through the tunnel.

With a flashlight in his hand, he held the beam steady as it lit his way. There was poor lighting here to begin with, so the flashlight was necessary to bat away the darkness that infested this place. His senses were on alert; his ears caught every sound he heard and summarily discarded them when they showed no threat; his eyes checked everything and rechecked, making sure his path was safe of danger. There was not much he could do to overcome the stench, however; the odor of human waste products filled the sewer. It was going to take a serious washing to get it out of his suit.

Glancing to the wall, the vigilante was quick to note that these tunnels were recent, made of brick and mortar—not what he was looking for. Reaching a crossroad, he stopped and surveyed the area, assessing for dangers and ruling out their existence here just as quickly.

Recalling the city maps he had obtained, he wanted to take a right here, so he did, entering the tunnel and traveling down it. Above his head he noticed pipes running along the roof—cable wires for the city electrical grid. More cables lined the walls here, hanging in lazy arches. This was definitely not where he wanted to be, but he continued to push on.

Reaching a T-intersection, the vigilante looked to his left and noticed the electrical cables took the turn there, leaving the path ahead naked from the tubes. Pressing forward, the dark-clad man kept eyeing the walls until he came to a stop.

Turning to fully face the walls, he ran his hand along side the brick-designed surface. Pulling it away, he looked at his palm and noticed some of the rock's dust stuck to his glove. Smelling it, he picked up a faint smell, causing his lips to turn up at the corners for a small smile.

He was in the right place.

As he expected, these bricks had been made of limestone—just like he wanted. Now, the Talon hopefully had been in this area. Hunting down other deposit of limestone down here was not his idea of fun, not to mention he had places to be. He could only imagine the growing fury in Vicki Vale's body at his growing tardiness. That wasn't as important as this though—once he found evidence of the Talon's presence here, he'd head to Wayne Tower, wash off quickly, then head to that party of Vale's.

Flashing his light about the place, the vigilante checked for other signs that the owl-inspired assassin may have been here. Disappointingly, his answer was no. Pressing on, he followed the tunnel once more.

Only to stop once more. Sniffing the air, Batman narrowed his eyes. The sewer stench was lessened; it was almost as if someone had released some fresh air into this area. Turning his head this way and that, he searched for a ladder that may lead to a surface exit, finding none.

Where was this leading him?

Suddenly, a soft sound echoed off the walls. If Batman wasn't mistaken, it was as if someone had stepped too hard on the ground, an unintentional misstep while sneaking around. It came from somewhere up ahead. Silently, the vigilante pressed forward until he reached a tunnel opening to his right.

Surprisingly, there wasn't much darkness in the tunnel. Up ahead he could pick out light, much brighter than the ones he was currently exposed to. There was no water running through it, so everything wall to wall was a cement path. Starting down this new corridor, Batman reached to his belt and pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken. He had the feeling he was going to need it fairly soon.

Silently stalking down the corridor, he eventually entered a chamber, one that was not uninhabited. Coming to a full stop, the Dark Knight couldn't help but notice how his unexpected company appeared to be waiting for him.

Three of them he immediately recognized as Talons. They were similar attire to the one that had killed Stryker, but there were subtle differences. Their masks, while maintaining the owl style, each were different in garnishment. More importantly were the weapons they wore.

The one on the left had a thick strap crossing over his body, a second one crossing from the other side, forming an X. Throwing knives were quickly noted. The one in the middle was more plain in appearance, the handle of a sword sticking out from over his left shoulder. Finally, the one on the right was larger than the others, a walking mass of muscle. At his waist were leather holsters, each one bearing a sai.

However, neither of the Talons drew attention like the last person in the chamber. In contrast to their black attires, this one wore grey. Where they wore bodysuits, he had a cape cascading from his shoulders behind him. While their masks hid their faces completely, his was reminiscent of Batman's own, with his mouth and chin showing.

Unlike Batman's cowl, this other man's had large eye sockets, two horns jutting out much like an owl's. It seemed to the Dark Knight that this one was much different from the Talons.

"We've been waiting for you," the man in grey spoke then, arms crossed over his chest. "It is not very often we face a capable fighter such as yourself."

"What is this?" Batman barked. "More Talons?"

"Surprised?" the man in grey asked coyly. "A good assets is hard come by, even for something as powerful as the Court of Owls. Like a sword, many must be produce lest you run out."

There was that name again. So, perhaps the demise of the Court of Owls was exaggerated; obviously something they wanted and possibly even encouraged. A secret society operating outside of perception was more ideal than being a fountain head. However, Batman wasn't quite ready to call these the real deal just yet.

"There's no such thing as the Court of Owls," he growled. "That is only a bedtime story used—"

"To frighten little children and keep them in line?" the man finished for him. "I could say the same about you, Batman. You've encouraged your own myth, have you not? Yet here you are, living and breathing the same foul air as another brother of the shadows."

"We may use the shadows, but we are not brothers."

"Quite true. A bat is hardly a match for owls. In nature, owls eat bats, a natural predator of rodents."

"Tell that to the last owl," Batman retorted. "He did not fare well."

For a moment, the man in grey was quiet before nodding his agreement. "Well said. However, he was only one Talon. Before you are three along with an Owl. The odds are against you."

"You're the Court of Owls?" the vigilante pressed.

A snort was made. "Hardly. I am the Head of the Talons, their eyes and ears. I see their targets and use them to kill my prey. I am the wings that propels them into the night and the beak to finish the kill. I am the Owlman."

In short, he was only a middleman, hired muscle to do his master's bidding. All the vigilante needed to do was get the information he needed out of him. Names, addresses, how this Court of Owls worked—everything, and he would get it.

"And now, Batman, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

Before he could respond, however, movement occurred in the corner of his eye. On instinct, Batman whipped his arm out, throwing his bat-shaped shuriken through the air. As it turned out, the Talon on the left had pulled out a throwing knife and had sent it flying at him. With a loud _clang!_ the shuriken and knife collided with each other, knocking both weapons out of the air and to the ground.

That was when the middle Talon launched himself passed Owlman, a hand over his shoulder and grasping the hilt of his sword. In one move, the assassin drew the sword from its sheath and arced it high through the air, bringing it down towards Batman's head. Immediately, Batman shot both of his arms up, holding both of his forearms next to each other. An instant later the sword collided with his gauntlets, fitting right between his triangle blades.

With a grunt, the dark-clad man bore the brunt of the blow, his knees bending as he absorbed the force. Despite the directness of the attack, it didn't blind the Dark Knight to the third Talon's attack, holding both sais in his hands as he charged in from the right. Unfortunately, Batman wasn't in the best of positions to take on the attack...yet.

Leaning backwards, Batman lashed out with a foot, landing a kick to the sword-wielding Talon's flank. He heard a grunt from the man, yet still got the desired reaction as the Talon backed off, drawing his sword back with him. This freed the vigilante to engage with his next attacker. As he pulled back his leg to ground it, he pivoted on his other foot to face the charging Talon, moving both of his arms up and to his sides.

A moment later the Talon struck, attempting to skewer him with the miniature trident blades. Shooting both hands up, Batman grabbed his foe at the wrists and let the man's momentum knock him off his feet. Falling to the floor, Batman landed hard on his back, another grunt escaping from his lips; however, he managed to get both of his feet up and pressed them right into the assassin's stomach. Rolling from back to the shoulders, Batman pushed his legs out as much as he could, sending the Talon flying off of him. Continuing with the roll, Batman went into a low flip, landing on his feet a second later and turning around in time to see the Talon crash onto the floor.

Pure instinct made Batman react more than anything, his right arm shooting up. Another loud clash rang out as he felt a sword collide with his gauntlet, forcing him to return his attention back to the sword-wielding Talon. Twisting his body around, the Dark Knight found his new opponent had drawn his blade back and swung it back at him, only to have it blocked with the vigilante's other arm. Over and over, the Talon struck with his sword, always aiming high, never attempting a side slash or a strike at the legs. Consequently, Batman couldn't help but note how unguarded this Talon's legs were. Unlike the one at Stryker's, this one didn't seem to have the experience or training as that one.

It was as if this Talon were inferior.

That was until a knife sudden buried itself into Batman's left shoulder, causing him to flinch as he hissed in pain. He turned out to be fortunate by flinching as something grazed the back of his head a moment later. Making sure to catch the next sword strike and restrain it somewhat with his triangle blades, the Dark Knight chanced a glance to his left and spied the knife-wielding Talon pulling out two more throwing knives. That had to explain the one in his shoulder and most likely the one that grazed the back of his head—thankfully his cowl probably only had a scratch. Probably.

It did present him a problem though. So focused was he on the sword and sai, he was blinded by the long-distance threat. That needed to change. Before another knife could be thrown, Batman shot a hand up and grabbed the Talon in front of him, using his combined strength and leverage to force the assassin to move while he stepped towards him. This move put the Talon between him and the knife thrower, buying him a second's reprieve.

It was only a second unfortunately as the sai-wielding Talon crashed into him, tackling him to the ground and skidding across it until they stopped. The air was forced from Batman's lungs causing him to gasp; that changed when the larger Talon grabbed the knife in his shoulder and pulled it out, a stinging hiss escaping his lips.

"Batman, now you die," the Talon proclaimed, his sai oddly enough missing. Must have discarded them in favor of a direct assault. Holding the knife high, the assassin then plunged it down, aiming to impale it in the vigilante's face.

Jerking his head to a side, Batman narrow dodged as the blade pierced the floor where his face had been. Undeterred, the Talon yanked the dagger out and held it high again; however, this left him unprepared for Batman shooting his left hand up, grabbing him by front of his bodysuit even as his shoulder stung with pain. Simultaneously, the vigilante pulled the assassin down as he throw his right fist up, ramming it into the man's throat. A choked gasp rang out as the Talon dropped the knife, both hands shooting up to grab at his injured larynx. With all his strength, Batman forced the larger man off him, rolling on top of the Talon and pushing off against him to get back on his feet.

As he stood up, Batman reached to his belt and pulled out a shuriken with each hand. Spinning around as his cape flew out behind him, the dark-clad man sent the projectiles flying through the air, sending them right at the knife-wielding Talon. In response, the man dove to a side, going into a roll as he dodged.

Movement from the corner of his eyes alerted Batman to the other Talon then. Spinning, Batman once more blocked the sword strike while dropping down to one knee. There was a sense of eagerness to the Talon as he began to press down with his blade, wanting to take advantage of this new situation.

Though he was trained in all manners of hand-to-hand combat, ranging from Japanese Martial Arts to the Assassins of the Demon's Fang, years of experience had taught the Dark Knight that went it came to Death Matches, there were no rules. It was a no-holds-bar battle for survival and nothing was off limits.

That was the only reason why Batman balled his right hand into a fist and swung it up, slamming it right into the Talon's groin.

A sharp " _eep!"_ squeaked out from the Talon and the dark-clad man could practically see the man's mind shut down, so overcome by the pain in his crotch. Muscles going limp, the Talon began to drop to his knees, or so he would have had Batman not drawn his fist back and curled his fingers back, jutting out his palm. Forcing it up, he rammed his palm under the black-clad man's chin and snapped his head back, sending him flying off his feet until he landed on the ground headfirst.

For a moment, the remaining Talons hesitated as they looked to their fallen comrade. That delay was all Batman needed as he shot a hand to his belt as he stood up again, pulling out a flashbang grenade. Jerking his hand up, he threw it at the ground, a bright flash filling the chamber as a deafening _BOOM!_ roared out.

In response, the Talons clasped their hands to the side of their heads, something the vigilante found odd. Most people tried to cover their eyes, not their ears despite the ringing they must have been hearing. It was possible both men had their eyes closed at the moment of the flash or—Batman narrowed his eyes.

Looking right at the eyes of knife-throwing Talon, he couldn't help but notice the glint of light off of the lens. The glass had to have been designed to repel sudden flashes of light, much like his own. Strange that they hadn't thought to soundproof their masks as well.

Not that he'd look a gift horse in the mouth. Charging to the knife-thrower, Batman reached out with both hands, one grabbing the man by his wrist as the other clamped down on his face. Using his momentum, the vigilante forced the assassin back the short distance between him and the chamber wall, slamming the back of his foe's head against the limestone.

Immediately, Batman felt the man go limp and he dropped the knife-thrower, watching him crumple into a heap. That was another down. Casually, he turned around, reaching to his belt with both hands. Patiently, he waited for the last Talon to recover from the flashbang and look to him, which the larger man did. Pausing only for a moment, the Talon charged, holding both of his hands up high.

At the last second, Batman lunged at his foe. Bringing up both of his fists, each one dawning an electrical brass knuckle, bolts of electricity dancing on them, the vigilante rammed a fist into the Talon's stomach.

Immediately the Talon stopped his charge, staggering backwards from the blow. Not letting up, Batman shot forward, slamming punch after electrified punch into the larger man's abdomen until he threw a change-up. Nearly leaping off the floor, the vigilante drove a powerful uppercut that knocked the Talon off his feet, sending him crashing to the floor just as he landed on his feet.

Straightening out his posture as he returned his brass knuckles back to their pouch on his belt, Batman turned to face Owlman, his last...

Wait, where was—

Suddenly pain exploded in Batman's torso as a large dagger exploded out the right side of his chest. Stunned, the vigilante stared at the blood-stained blade, watching drops of his own blood fall to the floor by his feet.

That was when Owlman's soft voice whispered into his ear, "You have proven yourself a worthy foe, Batman. A pity I could not fight you myself, but an opportunity to finish you presented itself. Rest comfortably in the knowledge that I will never forget your death."


	13. Lighting The Signal

It was purely coincidence that a guy with an Alice in Wonderland obsession had been arrested recently, but the parallels of going down a rabbit's hole was very apt. Unlike Jervis Tetch, who tried to bring Wonderland out of the rabbit's hole, the one the Batclan was going down held something else entirely.

Apparently, there was a secret society called the Court of Owls, one that Sebastian Clark belonged to, and it just so happened to be used as a bogeyman night after night. And this bogeyman was very much real, if all the stuff in Clark's little hideaway was true.

Yet, there was so much that was missing. For example, what the heck was Clark doing putting all that stuff in that hidden room? What was the purpose of that place anyway? This was where some of the information the three of them had collected began to contradict with one another. Some pointed to it being a hideout for Clark while there were others that mention that the Court already knew about it.

And that was only the beginning.

Tim was massaging his temples to relieve the headache he felt was forming. There was so much in that place that they had to make repeated visits to try and get it all. That included the computer, which Barbara was currently messing with. Everything else was papers or things like that framed picture of that poem, the stuffed owl, and the mask thing. So yeah, they left behind anything that didn't seem too important and brought it over to Dick's place.

Dick wasn't too happy about it, but everyone knew that they no other place to put it all. Barbara had her dad and stepmom, and he had his still-happily married parents. All of them were the types to ask questions none of them wanted to answer. Dick didn't have anybody like that, so by process of elimination here they were.

It wasn't like they had their own hideout or anything. Speaking of which, that might make things easier for them. Maybe they should consider finding a place. That way, they could stash their costumes and equipment—along with all this stuff that once belonged to Clark—in one place where they wouldn't have to worry about anyone accidentally stumbling on it.

"Find out anything new?" the teen asked, figuring now was as good a time to take a break from reading. This question was directed towards Dick, who was currently showing off that he wasn't all brawn and fighting skills. He was really smart when he cared to apply himself; it had to be due to the front he presented to people, Tim supposed.

"I think I'm going through a bunch of letters. I'm missing something because I'm not figuring anything out," Dick sighed as he leaned back from his spot on the floor, using the couch behind him for support. Combing his fingers through his hair, he looked tired, like he had just put in an intense workout. "What about you? Anything?"

"Nothing about what Clark was doing with the place," he replied, sounding almost as tired as Dick looked. Hey, mental activity could be just as tiring as the physical. The brain could only do so much before shorting out. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was running some kind, I don't know, museum? Storage? I find things that say that the Court knows about the place, yet other things that say they didn't. It doesn't make any sense."

"Unless Clark thought they had forgotten or really didn't know about it," Dick pointed out. "The killer—or perhaps whatever the Talon is—might have been waiting outside the place knowing he would come there instead of following him."

Tim blew air through his lips, letting them flap and smack rapidly together. He didn't bother contesting that theory.

"Hey, Barbara, find anything yourself?" Dick asked, raising his voice as he looked back to the kitchen table where the only woman in the room was busy typing...and typing. When he didn't get an answer, the older vigilante repeated his question, only louder this time.

"Hm? Oh. There's a lot of money going around here," she answered. "Clark was moving a lot of it around, but I can't figure out yet where he was putting it or taking it from. I think he tried to delete everything as soon as he did the transactions."

"And you know that, why?" Tim asked.

"Everyone forgets to wipe the hard drive. Or the trash bin. Just because you deleted from your files does not mean the computer forgot about it." It was quiet for a second before she gave out a sigh. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was trying to hide something and believed his every move was being watched. Like the computer was hacked at all times."

"Is it still hacked?" Dick asked, going right for the worst case scenario.

"I haven't found anything that suggests it ever was," was their answer. "I did several scans when that first occurred to me. He might have just been paranoid."

"It's not making anything easier for us," Tim grumbled as he crossed his arms. "Why is it things have only gotten more complicated?"

"Hey, Barb? You think we can keep that computer?" Dick asked, ignoring his complaint. "Maybe we can use it to help out with our crime fighting. You know, like some kind of bat-computer-whatever-you-want-to-call-it."

Tim snorted. Not at the idea of keeping the computer, but at the name. Bat-computer-whatever-you-want-to-call-it? Dick was being _really_ imaginative. Now, having their own computer was not a bad idea. They could use it as a way to centralize their operations, collect new information, heck, organize it all. Still, should work on the name. Odds are, somebody else out there had a "bat computer."

Tim blinked as a thought occurred to him. Looking at all the papers that surrounded him and Dick, he sucked his lower lip between his teeth. He pondered for a second before deciding to share what was going through his head.

"You know, I think we might need help on this one."

Now that got him stares from both Dick and Barbara, who looked up from the computer for the first time since she sat down in front of it.

"And who, pray tell, would we get help from?" Barbara asked dryly. "I highly doubt any of our parents would be willing to sit down and do through all this. And none of us knows anybody capable of helping and keeping this all a secret."

"But we do," Tim retorted, giving the other two the most meaningful look he could, hoping that he was conveying to them the one person that had almost spontaneously popped up in his head.

"You might have to give us a clue here," Dick said after a minute.

"Batman," he stated, and waited for their response.

"You're joking," Dick said flatly.

"Remember when we found all that fear toxin?" he countered. "He knew what that stuff was before we did. How much does he really know? Maybe he could help us out here."

"I don't need to be a detective to know what he would do," Barbara cut in. "He'd tell us to stop, again I might add. Last time, he threatened to tell my dad. If he knows I'm still doing this…"

"He probably already knows," Dick told her sourly.

"And why hasn't he told her dad yet?" Tim pointed out. "I know, he doesn't approve of us, but come on. We're not going to change his mind by keeping away all the time. We need to do more than bash heads together, as much fun as that is. Let's just try, alright? And whatever happens, let's not stop what we're doing. I don't care if he threatens to tell my parents."

"Except they could move you to another city," Dick replied wryly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then what?"

Talk about taking the wind out of his sails. Okay, so maybe he hadn't thought this idea out all the way through. He'd have to do better next time, that's all.

"He might be right, though," Barbara said quietly. Her words almost gave Dick whiplash when he jerked his head to face her again. "Batman is well-equipped. He might actually have something like a bat-computer of his own to analyze all of this. But he'd confiscate the computer too, if we showed him it. Then again, we could copy everything on this thing and give that to him…"

It was fascinating to watch Barbara as she talked; it was almost like she was arguing with herself.

"You really can't be serious." Dick looked like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Hey, his mom had a taste for the oldies, the black and whites you found on those channels that only showed old stuff. Not that he made a regular practice of watching any with her. "I just helped him a couple weeks ago and he was a dick to me. What makes either of you guys think he's going to want to help us?"

"Alright, so you think you'd be able to find something of any note, or be able to recognize anything important, in everything we took out of that—I don't know what you would call that place—and be able to link it to anything that we have the means to go to or after?" Barbara asked. Tim wasn't sure she even paused to take a breath after saying all of that.

Dick's eyes fell onto the computer then down on all the papers that surrounded the two men, then back to the computer, then Barbara, back to the papers, and then sagged his shoulders.

Yeah, when it came down to it, they didn't really know what they were doing, were they? Basically, they were trying to use information from TV, books, and the internet and play at being real detectives. As much as Tim wanted to solve the mystery of Sebastian Clark's murder, it was becoming more and more clear that they were out of their depth. Had it been any regular old murder, maybe things would be different. Or just as difficult. Who knew.

Then again, what proof did they have that Batman knew how to solve murders?

"Is there anyone else we can go to?" Tim asked finally, breaking the silence that had fallen onto them.

When no one answered, it was very clear on what they were going to do.

* * *

It had been a few days since the McKillen bust and still Helena could not let it go. All that work she and the other Birds had put into it, all the sweat, blood, and tears and what happens? The big, bad Bat shoves his pesky, ungrateful Bat-nose into their business and take the glory for himself.

It was completely unacceptable.

Five years she had been at this vigilante stuff, putting in her dues for a little bit of respect. For a moment she thought she had it after that Black Mask incident, what with Batman telling her she had a good idea for founding the Birds of Prey. Not a direct endorsement, but it was a long way from "Quit this before it kills you."

Then this happened. She hadn't always been on the Bat's good side, but she thought they at least had an understanding. If she stayed out of his way, he'd do the same—apparently that understanding was only one sided.

With most of her costume on, the dark-haired woman began roughly shoving on her purple gloves. Who the hell did he think he was to interfere with her work? It had been her that had been hammering the McKillens; her that had made them desperate enough to come out of their hiding place and do something stupid. The bust was hers, not that pointy-eared bastard.

At the very least, Dinah went to have a word with him. Helena doubted it had much effect, but it was at least something after the blonde had actually defended the so-called Dark Knight. What was next: Caped Crusader? Ugh.

However, because she had been so angry, she had failed to notice the distance Dinah and Katana had begun putting between them. At least, when Helena realized it, that's how she could best describe it. It was almost as if the two women were on guard for some strange reason.

Helena was getting pretty tired of that too.

Out of the corner of her eye, the dark-haired woman looked at her comrades, noticing them also preparing for the night's patrol. The moment they were on their bikes, all three of them would be too focused on their jobs. Well, at least Helena would be. Lately, she had been noticing how the other two would keep a firm eye on her, as if she were about to blunder around a fight or something. That was just one more thing on her growing list of annoyances lately.

Now was at least time to drag it out into the open.

"So, any Bat news?" Helena casually spoke, flexing the fingers in her glove as she made sure they fit.

"None that I've heard," Dinah answered as she threaded her arms through the sleeves of her jacket. "Why?"

"No reason, I just wanted to make sure that when we put a collar on someone, we didn't have to expect Gotham favorite hero to snatch it from us."

Katana merely stared at her, her hands clasped around her belt as she attached her sword sheath while Dinah gave the purple-clad woman an exasperated look. The blonde clearly wanted to say, "Are you still hung up about that?", but had the better sense not to say it. Instead, "It's over and done with, Helena. We need you thinking about now and not that mess."

"Oh? Are you sure?" Helena countered, picking up her mask and holding it in one hand, not quite ready to put it on. "Cause I get this sneaky suspicion that you're not completely thinking about now."

Dinah raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You think I haven't noticed? How you constantly watch me during fights?" Helena glowered at the blonde, then did the same to Katana. "The both of you have been. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Surprisingly enough, it was Katana that replied to the accusation. "We mean no disrespect," the Asian woman said. "But we have noticed something different about you."

"Different?" the dark-haired woman snapped. "What do you mean different?"

This time Dinah answered. "Ever since our fight at the Steel Mill, you've been...off, H."

Off? Her? The hell did these two get off thinking there was something wrong with her! "There's not a single thing wrong with me," she growled lowly. "I don't know where you got that from, but you two obvious have some chemical imbalance going on."

"So, you didn't try killing Roman Sionis? You just accidentally fired an arrow that somehow went for his head?"

So that's what this was all about. "We were on the verge of being killed," Helena retorted angrily. "It was either him or us; that was a simple decision, don't you think?"

"That just start," Katana suddenly replied, catching the purple-clad woman off guard. "You fight more vicious now—more injuries."

"Says the woman that uses a freaking samurai sword in fights," Helena spat back. Seeing Katana flinch, she couldn't help but smirk. "Not so high and mighty now, huh?"

"We each have something about us that can cripple or outright kill another person," Dinah interjected then, her voice calm as if she were trying to smooth this whole matter out. Like hell she would. "Katana has her sword, you have a crossbow, and I have my Canary Cry. That just means we have to be extra careful with how we fight."

"What could possibly happen?" Helena demanded. "Seriously, I want to know. We are defending ourselves against evil men and you're worried if one of us kills them. No jury would blame us for killing a monster like Sionis!"

"Okay, say you do kill someone. Some punk we run into during patrol—hell, why not the McKillen sisters the other night? You put one of your arrows between their eyes. You know what'll happen? The police will want to take you in."

"As if they could," the dark-haired woman snorted in derision.

"They'll try anyways. And went they fail, Batman will come; I don't have to remind you how that fight will end."

Memories popped up in Helena's head, namely the fear-induced battles with the Bat. Not only had the vigilante managed to beat them while simply trying to incapacitate them, he also beat the living Hell out of them when he himself had been exposed to that hallucinogenic fear gas. Those weren't proud moments for the Birds to say the least.

However, if Dinah meant to use it as a deterrent, then she failed miserably. Instead it only made Helena angrier. "He can try, but he won't win," she snarled.

Dinah raised a gloved hand and began rubbing her temples. "You're missing the point." She then sighed. "We got into this to fight against crime, not to commit them. You're the one that said that it we wouldn't be about killing anyone—that it wouldn't be allowed. You practically insisted on it because of your family."

Helena glowered at the reminder, but inside she could feel her stomach drop. Just the mention of her Bertinelli roots brought back all the memories of her cousins and uncles beating and slaughtering people. It wasn't a good feeling to be honest.

In spite of herself, Helena found herself backing down. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she had done exactly what anyone in her family would have done, defended herself as they would have done had they been in her shoes. Had it been one of her cousins telling her this, no doubt they would've rubbed in that realization with a very crude "I told you so." Fortunately it was Dinah and Katana and all she received from them was calm empathy.

"It's...tempting," she finally spoke after a few silent moments. "It's like now that I've done it, it would be so easy just to make it permanent, ya know? No more fighting the same punks every few nights."

"It is tempting," Katana acknowledged. "But we rise above temptation. We must. We must control ourselves and that is more difficult to do than not."

"And that's why we're in this together," Dinah added, closing the distance between them and placing a comforting hand on Helena's shoulder. "To keep each other honest. I know I'd rather have you confronting me with almost killing someone if we were in the other's shoes. And we'd do the same if it were Katana cutting people's heads off."

Touching, that's what this was. And to be frank, Helena felt relieved, even showing it on her naked face. Then she noticed the clock on the wall and she hid it behind a stoic mask. "Thanks for the pep talk, Ladies, but if we want the scourge of Gotham feel our boots up their asses, we need to get out there."

A smirk appeared on Dinah's face as Katana merely nodded her agreement. "Then let's get out there."

* * *

It had taken some time and thinking, but the three members of the Batclan had come up with a plan.

Gotham was too big of a place to go searching for one man, especially someone who did his best not to be seen. That meant that if they couldn't find him, he needed to find them. Their first meeting had happened that way, though none of them knew how that incident had come about. Had he been watching them before making contact? If so, how long had he been doing it?

Cutting off the line of questions that would lead to, it had been Barbara who came up with their plan.

That plan had them in uniform and waiting on the building right next to the GCPD precinct, cops entering and leaving the building below. Their interest was not on those men and women in blue, but on the searchlight that was placed on a corner of the roof.

The internet-dubbed Bat Signal, copyright pending.

It could be said that everyone knew about this poorly kept secret. For reasons "unknown," a searchlight was placed on top the station would turn on and be left on for indeterminable amounts of time. Why this was happening was anyone's guess.

To the Batclan, the answer was obvious. It was a way to scare the criminal elements, remind them that there was someone out there who wasn't afraid of them and was lurking about, ready to pounce at any given moment.

The official excuse was that there was some broken equipment on the roof that turned on and off due to faulty wiring. It was going to be fixed once there was room in the budget for it, but one year or so later, nothing had been done about it.

It was also very obvious that nothing was going to be done about it either.

Batgirl was the one who insisted they wait outside the building. For how long, Nightwing didn't know, but he knew she had her reasons. About fifteen minutes, the commissioner had been nearly dragged out by his wife for, according to Batgirl, "dinner out." Nightwing had only seen pictures of the man in the paper or interviews on TV, but never had he been too close to him.

Being several stories above him was the closest he had ever got.

It was now fifteen going on sixteen minutes now, and Batgirl was still insisting they wait. Her response to any complaints was: "Do you really think the Commissioner is not going to want to know why that light is on when he's halfway across the city? Everyone is going to know that thing is on; he's going to be the first one to want to know why, even if it means marching back here."

Interesting. If Nightwing didn't know any better, he'd say that Batgirl had been staking this place out long in advance. They were going to talk about this later, see what else she was doing when the three of them weren't palling around the streets of Gotham.

"How much longer do you want to wait?" Robin grumbled, fidgeting in his crouched position. Someone was eager to get this over with as soon as possible, not that the older man blamed him. Not unlike the youngest of them, he didn't want to be here at all.

"Until my—I mean, the Commissioner is seated and putting in his order," Batgirl replied. "Give it another five, ten minutes tops. Knowing the Lieutenant, she's going to want to spend some quality time with him. That will buy us more time. Plus traffic will delay him."

"What makes you think the other cops aren't going to investigate?" Robin asked.

"They're not going to do anything because some of them believe the whole faulty wiring story, either because they don't care, don't want to know anymore, or they're covering up the truth," was her answer. "I've managed to hear theories that some think it's on a timer. We're going to use every rumor we have going for us to prolong what little time we have."

"That's a big if there," he commented, arms crossed over his chest. The longer this went on, the less and less sure he felt. The last thing he or any of them wanted was to fight off the cops. That wasn't going to make anything easier for them and it would not make them look any better in someone else's eyes.

Not that he was concerned about that, mind you.

So they waited until Batgirl felt that enough time had been wasted before they made their crossing. Thankfully, their building was taller than the precinct, so lowering themselves onto the roof was the preferred method of entry. It was over before them knew it, and the next thing he knew, they were standing around the searchlight of so much repute.

Only the city lights revealed the dark shape that was painted on the glass, a shape that closely resembled the symbol that rested on Batman's chest, Nightwing noted. Someone had paid close or enough attention to get such accuracy. So this was it, wasn't it? They were going to go through with this, weren't they?

"So how do we do this? Anybody see the on switch?" Robin asked as he inspected the Bat Signal.

"I think I got it," Batgirl answered from her place right next to the searchlight. As a beam of light blasted out into the night, she followed up with, "That was definitely it."

Craning his neck back, Nightwing took in the sight of the round circle of light that now made its place in the night sky, the blank area resembling a bat hanging over the city. He had seen the sight before, but there was something different about it this time. There was something that made this moment...special. Maybe because he was at the base, standing at an angle that gave him a clear view of it.

"So now what?" he asked.

"Wait until he shows up," Robin replied.

"How long is that going to take?" Very important question there and one that needed an answer here.

"However long it takes." Okay, that answer made Robin deserve a swat to the head. He might think it sounded cool, but to the older vigilante, it was just...ugh. _This isn't a movie here, Robin_.

Of course, Robin had a point. None of them knew how long it would take Batman to respond, if he even did. They had no guarantee that this gamble was going to pay off. With that in mind, Nightwing turned his attention to the roof entrance, keeping an eye out for unwanted guests.

With that, their waiting game began. It was a different kind of experience letting the time fly by when you knew you had a limited amount of it. For all any of them knew, they had two minutes or twenty before they needed to ditch and the uncertainty was already starting to get to him. _Patience, Grayson, patience._ Calming himself, Nightwing began to wonder if it would be better if Batman didn't show up? That way he wouldn't need to deal with what came next. The three of them could try and figure something else out.

God, why was this taking so long? It had been, what, a minute? He was feeling very self-conscious right now. And that was saying a lot for a guy in black spandex. His foot was beginning to tap impatiently now. _Okay, stop that Grayson. You're better than that._

Glancing around, he saw Batgirl was still next to the Bat Signal, head craned back. Whether it was to stare at the signal in the sky, or scan the rooftops, that was anyone's guess. Robin had taken roost towards the other side of the roof, keeping vigil while keeping out of sight from anyone who happened to be looking up from the streets. That left him the one to keep his eyes on the roof entrance.

He blew air through his lips as one minute became two. _Calm down and do what you need to do, alright? Whatever was going to happen would happen. Okay? So don't get those tights in a bunch. It was—_

He tilted his head to the side as he could have sworn he heard something. Turning to look to his right, he searched for any sign that someone had arrived and found noth—wait.

It blended in with the night, but now that he was really paying attention, Nightwing could make out a body, one that was crouched on the edge of the roof. Oh wow, was this it? Had their plan worked?

He risked giving a sharp whistle to attract the attention of his partners. At that, the figure began to stand, a bit dramatic in his opinion and...hold on a second, something was not right here. The figure was...slimmer than he had last recalled Batman being. That and there wasn't a cape that he could see.

There were other differences, like the mask. There was no opening for the mouth, the eyes were covered with large, round lens, and the design looked nothing like a bat. Then there was the rest of him, them, whoever they were. What stood out the most was a sash that went from the left shoulder to just above the right side of the hip. On this sash were what looked like knives of some kind he had never seen before. Then there were these things on the wrists, he didn't know what they were, but that was because he was too far away to get a good look at them.

"Who are you?" Nightwing demanded, body braced for a fight. He didn't know why, but something about this person was putting him on edge. He didn't take the time to see what Batgirl and Robin were doing, whether they were as leery as he was or not.

The person's head barely turned, but somehow Nightwing knew that he—it was a he right?—was looking down at all of them. Then he spoke, "Interesting roost you three have chosen."

"What do you want?" Batgirl asked tensely. Hmm, she too was mistrustful of this guy.

"You have found something that you shouldn't have found," was their answer as a long, wicked-looking knife was pulled out—how had he missed that thing?! "For this, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."


	14. Help From Unexpected Places

Heavy breaths filled Batman's ears. Hand pressed to his chest, he stumbled and limped through the sewer tunnels, droplets of water trailing behind him from his suit.

Using the wall next to him for support, the vigilante forced himself to keep moving. A glance down to his chest showed the bleeding had yet to stop, seeping between his fingers as it trickled all over his forearm and down the front of his suit. He refused to think of what filth had gotten into the wound considering he had just crawled out of sewer water.

He wasn't sure how he had done it, but following Owlman running him through with that dagger, the dark-clad man had managed to pull away and stumbled his way back to the waterway. With his strength draining from him with every step he took, the Dark Knight plunged into the water and let the current sweep him away. There was no telling where he was, but hopefully Owlman and his Talons had let him go.

 _Fat chance of that happening,_ he groused.

These were trained assassins and they would not let their prey escape unless they were sure he was dead. They would search the entire sewer network to find either him or his body. Considering he was leaving an obvious trail of water and blood behind him, it wouldn't take much effort for them to find him. That's why he needed to keep moving, find his way to the surface, and hope like hell his car was nearby to whisk him away back to the cave. That was his only salvation at the moment.

A cough wracked at the vigilante, his chest burning with every cough he made. Since both of his hands were currently in use, he ended up hacking fluids from his mouth onto the wall next to him. Through bleary eyes, he couldn't help but notice how red his saliva was—scratch that, that was blood. He was coughing up blood.

Not good.

Groaning, Batman once again forced himself to keep moving. Damn, where was he? Nothing here looked familiar, which was another complication. His time was running short and he didn't have the strength to bumbling around these passages hoping he got lucky to find the manhole he had parked near.

Taking a step, his boot landed in something slimy, causing his foot to slip. Unable to recover his balance, Batman fell forward, landing on his stomach and causing an explosion of pain to burn through his chest. While his arm took the brunt of the fall, it had done little to shield him from his wound other than prevent more grime from contaminating it further.

Sucking in as much air as he could over and over, Batman tried to push himself back up, succeeding only in getting onto one hand and both knees. Crawling, he tried to cover more ground before he collapsed back onto the dirty floor. His vision was becoming blurred, the edges beginning to darken. His body was beginning to take on a rather warm feeling, a sign of shock he was quick to recognized.

Not...good...

Hissing, the vigilante tried to push up again, but didn't even budge, his body going limp as he lay on the ground. He had no more strength to go on. This...this looked like the end again—

No, no it wasn't.

Straining, Batman forced his eyes to clear up, willing himself to see, which surprisingly worked. First thing was first, he needed to stanch the blood flow coming out of him. Though he had bandages and antiseptic, he didn't think he had the ability to apply them, not on his back at least.

So with that option out, he had one that wasn't exactly his top one. Unfortunately, he didn't have much choice.

Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a small hand torch. It's main use was for melting locks and soldering metal plates. Right now it would have a much different use.

Squeezing on the handle, a bright flame erupted from the head. Steadying his breathing, he then removed the hand from his chest and pulled his cape off his back. This next part wasn't going to be much fun. With the torch, he moved it around to his back and began moving it up and down his back.

As part of its design, his suit was fireproof, so there was no fear of damaging the armor by doing this. However, the moment he found his wound he knew it as he felt a scorching pain explode in his back. Hissing, he kept the torch in that area and moved it blindly up and down until he was certain he had cauterized the entire area. There, that was one wound taken care of, not to mention the heat potentially killing off any infection there.

That had been the hard part. At least he was more alert now—a small bonus. Loosening his grip on the torch, he faintly felt the heat disappear before he moved the torch back in front of him. Rolling onto his side, he lit the torch back up and aimed it at the exit wound in his chest, hissing again as he began burning himself again. This was much shorter considering he could see his flesh darkening and sealing off the bleeding.

Coming to an end, he then shut the torch off again, his wobbling arm moving it back to its pouch on his belt and shoving it in. Panting over and over, Batman tried to recover his breath before he began to move again, this time successfully getting back onto his feet. He really didn't want to do this again.

Tilting his head so that he could look ahead of him, a sense of relief filled him. Up ahead, he could see a ladder leading up to the surface. That had to be the first bit of good news he had sense coming down here. Regripping the ladder, Batman stepped onto the rung and moved up.

Pain ripped through his chest, a hiss escaping his lips. Hitting his head on a rung, his arms wormed their way around the metal pipes, holding him to it as he panted loudly. Damn it, he couldn't climb out, not without risking reopening the wounds in his chest, or even losing consciousness. A fall could result with him landing on his head on the walkway, or even back into the sewer water, neither of which was a prospect he cared for.

Gritting his teeth, Batman forced himself to climb, biting back at the agony that wracked his body over and over. There was a point where he indeed blacked out, but when he came to, it was with the manhole cover shoved out of his way and his upper body lying on pavement.

Thank God, he made it.

Pulling himself forward, he moved out of the manhole, crawling every foot he could. His sight was blurring again, but this time he couldn't think of a solution to get rid of it. He couldn't...couldn't burn him self again. It would be masochistic at this...point.

Batman's arms gave out, his body settling on the ground. Damn...damn, he could feel himself slipping. No! No, he couldn't! He...he just needed to catch his breath and call for the car. That's...that's what he needed to do. He wouldn't let himself slip away.

Not slip away.

Slip...away...

* * *

Gordon had been enjoying a meal out, a real meal too, when he had heard about the signal. Yes, heard. He had just put in a piece of a very tasty steak into his mouth when someone had came in and mentioned that the Bat Signal was up. This being the first time he had heard that term, he hadn't put much thought into it until it clicked together.

After almost choking, he left the table with both the steak and wife for the nearest window.

And that was how a lovely night was ruined.

Though traffic had slowed him down, he had made it back to the station in record time and not in a good mood. He didn't have to give a second glance to the beam of light that shown from atop the building. It might have been different seeing it from down here when usually he was up there next to it, but he was in no mood for that kind of reflection.

The only mood he was in was finding out who turned that thing on while his back was turned and ripping whoever it was a new one while he was at it. That Bat-whatever-people-called-it was not a toy.

Whoever was up there better hope that he didn't catch them.

* * *

After many months, more than a year in fact, Robin had thought that between the three of them, they had some good fighting skills. Rare was that the three of the them found themselves outclassed. Nightwing had the better fighting skills, a mishmash of a few fighting styles, though at this point he had a hard time figuring out what the origins of those styles were. Batgirl had incorporated gymnastics into her own unique style. Lastly, he had started with some karate lessons and built from there from the countless street fights and blitzkrieg-styled strikes he had participated in.

With all that said, the masked assassin was on a whole different level.

He was fast—really fast. Nightwing had pulled out his batons and tried to meet him attack for attack, except the assassin went into evasion mode in the blink of an eye, then switched back to offense in less than a second. It was practically a blur to the masked teen's eyes, but the result was Nightwing flipping over and onto his back, batons clattering against the roof.

The assassin was far from finished though. Pinning Nightwing down with a booted foot slamming down on his chest, he raised his long, wicked-looking knife up and angled down for a killer strike.

It was a strike that Batgirl was planning to prevent as she leapt into the fray—or tried to. The assassin broke off his intended strike before he began it, instead slicing at Batgirl, who bent backwards as far as she could while skidding to a stop. Then the assassin ducked down and swung the leg he had used to pin Nightwing to kick her feet right from out of her.

She was suspended in the air for a split second before the assassin's other hand slipped behind her and grasped her cape. He slammed down pommel first into her stomach then somehow threw her, Batgirl flipping upside down until she hit up against the closed door of the rooftop entrance.

As if realizing that he too was apart of this fight, Robin pulled out his homemade, currently still-called birdarangs for lack of a better name, and threw two straight at the assassin who, now that he got a good look, resembled an owl.

Robin's eyes widened from behind his domino mask as the assassin barely turned, swinging his knife and slicing through both of the flying projectiles with that single slash. The compromised birdarangs tumbled through the air, spilling out black powder whose sole purpose was to go boom. The pieces of the projectiles clattered on the roof with little more fanfare, each clattering sounded more like a death knell to the costumed teen's ears.

Maybe they had bitten off a bit more than they could chew…

However, it seemed like Robin had gained something from his intervention. Because the assassin was focused on him, it allowed Nightwing the opportunity to strike. Lifting his legs up, the older vigilante practically balanced on his shoulders while wrapping his lower appendages around the leg of their enemy. Exerting himself, Nightwing pulled down, throwing the masked attack off his feet and forcing him onto the roof.

Instead of a body impacting the cement floor, hands planted themselves on the rough surface and the next thing any of them knew, Nightwing was the one being picked up. Robin could practically see the older man's eyes widen in surprise as he was balanced high up in the air, the assassin's body now perpendicular with the roof. Bending his free leg at the knee, the assassin's kicked upward, striking the young adult's chin and snapping his head back.

Nightwing released his hold as the assassin went into a flip to regain his footing. Robin meanwhile threw another of his birdarangs, hoping to hit him with his back turned. He wasn't as surprised when this one met with failure too, the black-clad man slicing them in half like the others before.

Barely sparing him a glance, the assassin pulled one of the knives held by the sash he wore and, without taking the time to aim, threw it at him. For a second, Robin felt like a deer in the headlights, unable to move his body as the sharp object drew closer, and closer, and closer until it was interrupted by a baton striking it.

Batgirl to the rescue. Somehow she had managed to get her hands on one of Nightwing's fallen batons and had just made it in time to block the throwing knife by sticking it between the projectile and its target. She now stood between the young vigilante and the masked assailant, who was paying more attention to Nightwing than he was them. Did he think them less of a threat or something? Nightwing, meanwhile, had snatched up his other baton, arming himself for the next round.

"Do you children think you can stand against a Talon?" the assassin, or Talon as he called himself, inquired.

"Let's find out," Nightwing snarled in reply.

Talon was taking him up on it. Instead of waiting for Nightwing to make the first move, he was running at him, long knife at the ready. Nightwing started backing up—wait, backing up? Why was he doing that?

At the last second, he dodged to a side as Talon stabbed forward with his knife, plunging it into one of the building's air conditioning units. Nightwing was still moving as he spun around his opponent and swung his baton around, finally landing their first hit of the night into the back of Talon's head, ramming his head straight into the A/C unit.

The older vigilante continued his assault with a kick, but that was caught as Talon released the handle of his knife to pin the limb against his body. Pulling his head away from the A/C unit, he twisted his body and slammed the palm of his other hand into Nightwing's face. Simultaneously, he released the captured leg and allowed the vigilante to stumble back into another unit.

Batgirl was making an attempt at her next attack, swinging Nightwing's other baton at Talon's head. Talon, merely raised his arm and blocked with his forearm. Without warning, a blade sprang out from his wrist attachment that had gone unnoticed for the entirety of the fight.

Batgirl was already backing away at this turn of events, not waiting for Talon to take advantage of their proximity. Keeping the baton between them, Batgirl waited until the last minute before dodging, Talon's new blade tearing the guts out of an A/C unit as a result. Batgirl kept dodging as the Talon swung and stabbed her, coming closer and closer with each attack. Robin had to blink his eyes rapidly as he noticed a few strands of red hair whipping around through the air as they fell to the ground. Whoa, was that hair he managed to get?!

The young vigilante shook his head. Alright, it was his turn now. _Time to redeem yourself, Drake. Let's try smashing his face into one of those units. Again. Except this time use the entirety of his body weight instead of the force of a kick. Let's see him take that!_

He started his run, trying to pick up as much speed as he could. Don't worry, he had a plan in mind. There were a lot of those A/C units up here, so he was going to jump and kick off one of those things to get the necessary height he needed to pull it off. The movies did something like this all the time. How hard could it be?

Harder than he thought as when he tried, while he did get some height, he didn't get as high up as he wanted. And then the Talon broke off his attack on Batgirl to turn towards him, that wrist blade directed at him and—

Sharp, burning pain tore through the front and side of Robin's body. Blood spurted out and onto the roof and A/C units. A scream that may or may not have come from his lips rang out. The next thing he knew he was down, hands pressing down on the long cut in his torso. From the middle of his chest to over his ribs, blood spewed from the slashed open wound and soaked into his costume.

Oh God, it hurt!

Sounds were made, faint and distant. Was that his name being called out? He wasn't sure. He had never felt this kind of pain before and damn it, damn it, damn it, why did it hurt so much?!

It suddenly hurt a lot more as he was picked up and carried away, not gently either, he would add. Was that Nightwing speaking? Sure sounded like it. Getting out of here? Yeah, that sounded like a great idea. He needed to push past the pain and get his head—were they going over the side of the building?

Yes, yes they were. There was a sharp metal sound, sounded almost like a grappling hook, and Robin noticed a rope in the older vigilante's hand. Okay, they were making a run for it, while jumping off a building, and down onto the streets below.

A retreat didn't seem like a bad idea right now.

* * *

Tearing his knife out of the A/C unit he had left it in, the Talon followed after the fleeing targets. He had to give them credit, jumping off the side of the building was a creative idea when trying to run from him. Naturally, he saw the climbing equipment they had pulled out and were using to slow their falls.

The two older ones were the ones doing the jumping and descending. The younger, wounded one was holding on to the older man. That meant there were only two of those ropes.

It was obvious which one to cut first.

With his newly retrieved knife, he placed the sharp edge against the rope that was supporting two of his targets. It took but a second to saw through it.

He watched as the two men fell to the ground below.

* * *

" _...Bruce…"_

Huh? What was that? A voice?

" _Master Bruce…"_

He _knew_ that voice…

" _It's time to get up, Master Bruce."_

 _Something bright hit his eyes, causing Bruce to squeeze them tightly shut. He groaned as he turned his face away, burying it in the softness of his pillow. Almost on instinct, he pulled his bedsheets up to provide more...more…_

 _Bruce shot up in bed and looked towards the light. Standing in front of the window was the thin form of Alfred, his arms up and out as he spread the curtains wide open, allowing a blinding light into the room. Turning his head, the butler gave a stoic look before he said, "Your breakfast is ready, Sir."_

" _Alfred," the young man gasped before he began to look around. He was sitting in his bed back at the manor. For a moment it didn't make sense to him—in fact, something in the back of his head told him this was all wrong, but it was brutally shoved aside, choosing instead to look back at the older man. "You're...you're alive…"_

 _Alfred raised a white eyebrow. "I would certainly hope so, Master Bruce. It would be a strange thing to not be."_

 _Relief welled up within Bruce. Everything...everything had to have been a dream. Yes, that's what it had to be. He didn't dress up like a bat every night; his best friend wasn't a sociopath willing to murder his business partners; a deranged clown hadn't blown Alfred's head off; he hadn't been stabbed through the chest with—_

A sharp pain jolted him. _Wincing, Bruce grabbed at the pajama shirt, bunching it up between his fingers as he looked down at his chest. Strange, it was gone now._

" _Is something wrong, Master Bruce?"_

 _Looking back to the butler, the younger man let out a sigh. "No, nothing's wrong. I just had a terrible dream."_

" _A dream, Sir?" the older man prodded._

 _The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up as a bubble of humor welled up inside him. "You're going to think I'm crazy."_

" _No more than usual, Sir."_

 _That made him chuckle,_ just as another pain pricked in his chest. _He frowned slightly. That had been stronger. Shaking it off, he then responded to the butler, "I had this dream where I fought crime. Took down the entire Mob. But then this insane man showed up and started to ruin everything." He looked meaningfully at Alfred. "He even killed you, Alfred."_

 _The older man didn't look one bit disturbed by this. Instead he walked towards the billionaire and took a seat on the bed next to him. It was almost as if Bruce were a child again and Alfred had shown up to soothe his frightened mind. "It seems you have been plagued by nightmares, Master Bruce. But as you can see, I am well. But that isn't the important thing."_

 _That befuddled Bruce. "Important thing?"_

 _Alfred nodded sagely. "It's time for you to get up."_

The pain tore into him again, much stronger this time. _Bruce gritted his teeth as he suppressed a hiss. What the hell was that? "Alfred, what are you talking about?"_

 _The butler looked him in the eye. "It's time to get up, Master Bruce."_

" _Get up? You mean out of bed? Can't that—"_

" _It's time for you to get up."_

" _Alfred, you're not making any—"_

" _You need to—"_

"WAKE UP!"

The pain returned with a vengeance, searing into him. Eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, Batman shot up from where he laid, his mouth wide open as he bared his teeth. A mangled scream seeped out of his mouth, guttural and animalistic.

Everything was different. Gone was his bedroom. Gone was the sewers. Instead he was greeted with the sight of what looked like the back of a van. There was shelving off to his right, which was covered with bins and tools. A side door was off to his left, a possible way out of this place.

And right in front of him was a person wearing a hoodie jacket and a welder's mask.

Pure instinct sent the vigilante lunging at the person, mauling them as he pushed them roughly onto their back, a startled cry coming from behind the mask.

"What the Hell are you doing to me?!" he roared as he held the squirming body beneath him with one hand.

"Wait! Stop! You don't—" the voice cried out. There was something off about the voice and had he been in a better frame of mind, he would've paused for a second to figure it out.

Instead he used his other hand to grab onto the mask and rip it off. Surprise didn't begin to cover what he felt as he saw the face of what had to be a teenage girl looking up fearfully at him. Light from the van glimmered off a nose ring she wore and...was her hair purple?

For a moment everything stopped. Heavy pants came from the Dark Knight, a burning pain in chest reminding him that something was wrong with him. "What are you doing here?" he growled lowly. "Why am I here?"

"I-I…" the girl stammered before she gulped deeply. "I was t-trying to help."

"Help? With what?"

"I-I found you. Next to the sewer hole...thing. You were just lying there. I couldn't get a pulse." She was spilling her guts out now, a torrent of broken sentences flooding out. "I...I...found my boss' van and dragged you to it. I didn't know what else to do. And you didn't have a pulse. So I tried to jumpstart your heart."

At this, Batman looked down at his torso. Jumper cables were attached to pieces of his armor right around his heart. Following the cables, he found a car battery sitting off to a side, which led to a small remote control. At least that's what he thought it was considering there was only a dial on it.

Looking back to the girl, he asked, "Where did you get the van?"

"Like I said, it's my boss'. He only lives a couple blocks down, so I jump-started it and drove it back here." She went quiet for a moment. "Are...are you okay?"

No, he wasn't okay. Far from it in fact. If he recalled right, he had just nearly been killed again, somehow surviving long enough for this girl to find him and perform a crude version of CPR. That didn't even take into account that he found himself in a deeper rabbit's hole than he had with the Mad Hatter.

Also, he was in great need of medical attention, none of which he could afford to go to.

"Umm, if you need a ride to a hospital, I'd be glad to help out…"

Batman forced himself out of his thoughts. Pulling away from the girl, he allowed his cape to envelope him, one hand discreetly moving to his gauntlet and pressing a couple small buttons on it. "You've done more than enough," he told her before he turned to side door. Reaching out with a hand, he grabbed the door handle and pulled on it, sliding the door open.

Quickly, he climbed out of the van, his feet touching down on the wet asphalt. Immediately he spotted the manhole the girl must have pulled him from, a small trail of blood reaching from it towards the back of the van. Standing still, the vigilante focused on his hearing, waiting for the sound of a familiar rumble.

Behind him, the girl stumbled out. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked with concerned. "It wouldn't be too much trouble and I'd gladly help you out and—"

He ignored her after that, merely shifting away. They were in some sort of yard, or so he could describe it. There was a long building behind him with two smaller ones out in front of him. This courtyard, for lack of a better word, was formed at the junction of a T-intersection of the alleyways. One of the smaller buildings even had a chain-linked fence forming a smaller yard next to it.

He felt a tug on his cape, forcing him to look at the girl again. "Umm, I just wanted to tell you thanks. You know, for everything you've done for this city. Umm, you helped my brother out not too long ago too—he's a major fan of yours, by the way. So I hope this makes us...uhhh, even."

Staring at her, he could tell she was starting to get uncomfortable. "You don't have to thank me," he told her.

She shook her head. "No, I do. It's not just me and my brother either—it's this whole city. We owe you a lot."

Batman turned his head away at those familiar words. The only difference was the person saying them this time. He then perked up. Just now he picked up the sound he was waiting for.

Suddenly the girl was in front of him, offering her hand up to him for a handshake. "My name's Harper Row. If you ever need anything, feel free to—"

That was when his car appeared at the entrance to one of the alleyway, the engine rumbling loudly. Its sudden appearance stopped Row as she turned to look at it. "Whoa," she said weakly.

Moving around her, Batman headed to the car, the canopy sliding open just as he reached it. "Be safe," he called out to her before he gingerly climbed in. He didn't even look at her as the canopy slid shut. Reaching to the console panel, he hit a couple of the buttons to activate the auto-pilot navigation systems. "Return...home…" he spoke softly before the car took off, speeding up as it raced down the street.

He needed to get to the cave as soon as he possible. Time was of the essence. While Row had bought him some time, there was no telling when he'd black out again. It would be difficult to use all of the medical equipment, but he had little choice now.

It was a shame Alfred wasn't still around.

* * *

The unexpected fall had been...unexpected. It was a good thing that Nightwing wasn't squeamish when it came to heights. Of course, he hadn't been quite in this position. He had held onto another person while dangling from high up in the air before, but the differences were that he usually held the other person by the wrists, not in his arms.

And something to dangle on.

His rope losing its tautness had clued him in that he and a wounded Robin were in freefall now. Before, they had been slowing down a bit so the two of them weren't falling as fast as they could have been. However, if he didn't do this just right...well, it wouldn't matter anymore, would it?

Pulling his legs up as much as he could, he kicked back as hard as he could against the side of the building behind him. That changed the direction from straight down to more of an angle. A split second later, he was rolling as his body came into contact with pavement. Momentum carried the two of them until a parked police car stopped them abruptly.

Oh, his back was going to feel that in the morning. For now he needed to walk it off. There were more important things to worry about now.

"Robin?" he gasped out. Hmm, maybe that took more out of him than he thought.

"I'm alive," Robin croaked. "Think you could have done that more gently? My side's killing me."

If he could crack a joke, he was going to make it.

"Are you two alright?" A very pleasant voice to hear, that. Batgirl was at their sides, checking them over as best as she could.

"We got to get out of here," he stated as he began pushing himself up. "Think you can take Robin?"

A nod of the head was all she gave as she began to pull their younger teammate away from him.

"On my back," she told the wounded boy. "Wrap your legs around my waist."

In the spirit of speeding things up, Nightwing forced himself back onto his unsteady feet and helped with getting Batgirl ready with her passenger. Once she was on her feet, it was time to move, before someone spotted them, if they hadn't already.

A nearby alley would be their escape, and taking far longer than he liked, they hurried down it. If they could be out of sight, that meant that their attacker wouldn't be able to find them.

A noise reached his ears, something that didn't sound like anything like what would naturally be in an alley like this. Almost sounded like metal...against metal? He shot a look over his shoulder but found nothing. Then his eyes darted upwards…

...and found the Talon leaping off a fire escape, angled towards them.

He changed direction, aiming to intercept the assassin chasing them. Grabbing the lid off of a nearby trash can, he tried to strike at the killer as best as he could, sending the lid flying like a frisbee through the air. Again with an impressive show of skill, Talon aborted his attack to counter. Nightwing felt a hand press down on his head, a sudden weight balance there, and then the Talon flipping over him and gaining a very vulnerable target in his wide-open back.

For once, he had anticipated such a thing. Every move that this Talon guy made was to either go for a killer strike or to get into a position to make one. That was why the second the masked killer pushed himself off his head, the vigilante was dropping down and swinging his leg out, successfully tripping Talon and knocking him off his feet.

Thanks to the limited space in the alley, Talon fell back and against a brick wall, and not too gracefully either. Hey, something he did actually worked this night! Hmm, maybe shouldn't start gloating here since Talon was very quick at recovering and—oh shit!

He dodged backwards as the long knife the assassin carried sliced at him, then he had a foot in his gut forcing him even further back. Now the vigilante was the one running into brick walls and—shit again!

Nightwing moved to a side as the long blade stabbed at his head, cut into bricks instead thanks to his last second dodge. He would have thought the weapon would have broke from that, but it held together, scraping at the rocky material.

Next thing he knew, one of Robin's flying projectiles hit its mark, striking the Talon in the shoulder and detonating. It wasn't a powerful explosion, closer to something a firecracker would do, but don't ever underestimate such things. Those things still hurt when they were right next to you.

Looks like Robin was back on his feet now, arm pressed to his wound but no longer piggy-backing on Batgirl. By his count, though, that was the last one of those Robin had on him.

And it was one that Talon easily recovered from. It was like he hadn't felt anything as he began stalking his way towards them. There were no quips this time. No banter. Nightwing just had this feeling that playtime was over now.

Suddenly, there was a sharp, whistling sound. Talon shot a hand out and snatched out of thin air...an arrow? Lens eyes glared dispassionately at it before looking up and at something behind the three of them.

That something was a someone, a woman in purple and holding a crossbow of all things.

"I don't know who you are, but don't you think you have better things to do that try and kill a couple of kids?" the masked woman demanded.

Nightwing kinda bristled at that.

The Talon, on the other hand, replied, "No witnesses."

He was on the attack once more.

* * *

Huntress stood at the opening of the alleyway, holstering her crossbow. A man in head-to-toe black was charging at her, barreling passed the amateur Batclan without so much as a second glance. Arms extended from his sides, he held two throwing knives, the purple-clad woman preparing to dodge the blades however the assailant decided to use them.

He seemed to want to use them in close quarters, swinging his arms in front of him as his knives sliced at her through the air. Jumping backwards into the street, Huntress pulled out her retracted bo staff, ready to extend—

The dark-haired woman's eyes widened and she retreated another step as her attacker back-swung his arms, trying to cut her again. She was momentarily shocked, which proved costly as the man pivoted on one foot and lashed out at her, landing a sidekick across her face. Head snapping to a side, Huntress found herself stumbling, her mind trying to figure out what had just happened.

Something black flew by her then, a streak of yellow following it. Snapping her head back, Huntress saw Black Canary sail passed the attacker, one leg extended as she failed to land her flying kick, the black-clad man spinning to a side to dodge it. Seeing this as her opportunity, Huntress extended her staff and lunged forward, jabbing an end at her opponent. This time she was the one to land the blow, her staff end connecting with the man's check and jerking his head to a side.

Immediately, the purple vigilante forced her staff down, smacking it down on the hilt of one of her foe's knives. This had the bonus of knocking the weapon out of his hand, his fingers spasming from the blow. Getting in on the action, Black Canary charged in low, placing all of her weight on one leg at the last moment as she swung her other leg out, sweeping their opponent's feet out from under him.

If either of them thought they had taken the upper hand, they were sorely mistaken. Despite having his feet cut out from under him, this guy turned his fall into a freaking flip—a one-handed one at that—swinging his lefts through the air until he was standing once again. Not even pausing to catch his breath, he threw his remaining knife at Huntress, a fluid of motion she could only envy.

At least, she could some other time. In that moment she jerked her bo staff up, feeling a tremor through her arms as the knife collided with her pole and bouncing off of it. In the meantime, Black Canary ran at the man, intending on engaging him in hand-to-hand.

The blonde was the one to throw the first punch, one their opponent caught in the palm of his hand. Before she could counter, he lunged at her, ramming his knee into her midsection and knocking the wind out of her. Releasing his hold, the attacker allowed Black Canary to stumble backwards as she tried to regain her breath. This left her wide open for the jab the man sent, slamming it against her throat and causing the blonde to gag once again.

Before Huntress could react to at least drive this dangerous man off, Katana came racing in, a blur of red and yellow coupled with something flashing at her side. The man leapt into the air, flipping like an acrobat to avoid the side slash the Asian woman did with her sword. Undeterred, Katana gave chase, running right for where her opponent was landing. Her sword slow, she swung it upward, forcing him to back off to avoid the strike. However, instead of going for a downward slash, Katana spun to her right, bringing her blade down as she did so. It was as if she had choreographed it before hand as she rammed the butt of her sword hilt right into the black-clad man's side, finally landing a solid blow.

This caused the guy to stumble to a side. Not letting up, Katana launched into a flurry of strikes, her sword becoming nothing more than flashes of light in front of her. Up, down, left, diagonal upward, right, and...Jesus, Huntress couldn't keep up! She lost track of where Katana was attacking from, her arms appearing as blurs. The entire time, the man dodged, most likely the only thing he could do. That...that meant he was completely focused on Katana.

Huntress could smell the distraction.

Circling around, she was careful not to draw any attention to herself, not that she had to try very hard. Once she had gotten behind her foe, she raised her bo staff up and charged in. With Katana keeping him busy, there was no way he'd expect a surprise attack from be—

Suddenly, the man leaned backwards and to a side, kicking a foot up to collided with the side of Katana's sword, knocking her out of her barrage. He pivoted on his grounded foot even as he brought his extended leg down, just in time to face the purple-clad vigilante. Before she could even strike, or charge her course, her opponent shot towards her, his fist lashing out so fast, she couldn't stop it slamming right into her solar plexus. Combined with her own momentum and the next thing Huntress saw was blackness.

* * *

Once the door to the rooftop was opened, Gordon found himself surprised to find no one up here. That didn't make any sense unless whoever turned it on was still in the station or hiding up here.

To his left he found evidence that might support his second conclusion. It looked like there was a fight up here. Any anger he felt simmered down as his more investigative side took hold. Carefully, he made his way onto the potential scene of a crime. He kept an eye out on the gravel that covered the rooftop, wanting to make sure he didn't accidentally step into a possible footprints, if ones were left.

 _What the…? Who did that to the A/Cs?_ A few of them looked like they were torn apart and—

He narrowed his eyes as he spotted a dark stain. Moving closer, he examined what looked like a dark liquid. It didn't take him long to figure out that that liquid was blood.

Suddenly, there seemed to be a darker reason for someone turning on the signal. Someone had been attacked up here. Meaning...that whoever was attacked could have been calling for help.

Gordon had a good idea of whose help was being called for.

That left only the reason behind it. From the scene so far, that reason might mean life or death. If that was the case, why didn't this person seek police protection? Yes, he could see some doubts why whoever this was would be...shy about seeking such protection, but that's what they were here for, wasn't it? To serve and protect?

Glancing at the searchlight that continued to light up the sky, he made his way and shut off, being careful to use the end of his coat to prevent himself from possibly contaminating the switch. He was going to get forensics up here to process the scene and see what they could come up with.

Taking another look at the searchlight, he thought about bringing someone else in on this.

* * *

Huntress hacked up a glob of blood and saliva, spitting it on the ground in front of her. With a low growl, she pushed herself up.

Sometime between her getting nailed dead center in the chest, she had lost consciousness for a brief moment—she hoped. She must've landed on her head, which explained why she had blacked out. Either that or the rush of oxygen out of her had shut her brain down, not something she wanted science to positively prove.

Some time between her failed attack and now, the other vigilantes had gotten back into the action. One of the Batclan punks—Nightwing, she thought his his name was—seemed to be doing some triple flip thing in midair as he took on the man in a ninja costume. Good moves, she was reluctant to admit, but the guy in black unfortunately had moves of his own. With Nightwing in mid-flip, the man leapt at the other and grabbed him by his ankle. With a jerk of his arm, he flung the younger man down onto the ground, Nightwing gasping loudly as the air in his lungs was forced out.

The assassin raised a cruel-looking dagger then, holding it high over his fallen foe. Before he could strike, however, a throwing star flew out of nowhere and collided with the man's hand, forcing him to drop the weapon.

Jerking her head to a side, Huntress saw the wounded Robin holding his chest with one arm, the other extended out, clearly showing he had been the one to throw the projectile. The kid was ballsy, the purple-clad woman had to admit, but he was clearly not up to taking on this assassin guy. Then again, she could say the same herself.

First the Bat beats her up, now this guy. Where the Hell were these nutjobs coming from?

Hand shooting up to his torso, the assassin drew one of his remaining throwing knives. With ease, he flung it through the air at Robin, who looked more like he was staring the blade down as it came towards him, not making a single move to get out of the way. At least until Black Canary came out of nowhere and tackled him to the ground. That left the blade flying by them harmlessly until it impaled the wall of a nearby building.

Another growl reverberated in Huntress' throat. This was getting out of hand. There were six of them and they were getting their asses handed to them on a silver platter. Then again, the only ones that were standing a chance were Katana and that Nightwing guy. If this fight continued this way, they were all going to die.

That was not an acceptable option.

Unfortunately, Huntress couldn't think of any way to bring this assassin guy down. He was too skilled to try and overpower, something she had personally learned. Black Canary seemed too reluctant to use that Canary Cry of hers; then again, she would be too after taking a serious blow to the throat. Katana could only keep up for so long before she tired while the killer in black didn't look the worse for wear. As far as the Batclan was concerned, they were pretty much useless, Nightwing's acrobatics aside. That left very little choice.

Grimacing, Huntress reached to her belt and pulled out her crossbow. Making sure it was loaded, she raised it up and pointed it right at the attacker, who was currently engaging that Batgirl person. The redhead had tried to punch him, but he had caught the blow and used it against her, twisting her arm behind her and leveraging it against her. Even from where she stood, Huntress could see the pain on Batgirl's face.

Unfortunately, that took her shot away.

"H, what are you doing?" Black Canary suddenly demanded. Jerking her head to a side, the purple-clad woman saw the blonde a few feet away, helping hold up Robin as the young man looked at her.

"We're running out of options, BC," Huntress responded as she returned her attention to the assassin and Batgirl. Nightwing had managed to get back up and had charged in, knocking the assassin off his little friend. He was now trading blows with the man in black, punching, kicking and blocking as his foe did the same. "This guy is too good for any of us."

"So it's either him or us," Black Canary summed up. "I'm begging you, don't do it."

"What would you have me do then?!" Huntress demanded. "Either I take the shot, or he kills all of us here and I don't exactly see you using your Canary Cry."

"There has to be another way," the blonde replied with determination.

"I'm all ears here."

There was a brief moment where nothing was said, only for it to be interrupted by Robin of all people. "I'm not too sure we have much choice here," he reluctantly spoke.

That made Black Canary look at the young man in shock while a sickening feeling welled up inside Huntress. The admission itself seemed to be making Robin ill as well if his face was any indication. For a moment, the purple-clad vigilante felt her arm waver, causing her crossbow to dip downward.

But then she returned her attention back to the assassin and practically saw a bull's eyes on his chest just as he sent Nightwing tumbling to the ground. Straightening out her arm, Huntress made sure her aim was good and pulled the trigger. With an explosion of air, the arrow fired from the crossbow, rocketing through the air until it impaled the assassin right where his heart was.

Everything seemed to freeze in place as everyone stared at the assassin, the bolt sticking out of his torso. Even the man seemed shocked by its appearance until he collapsed onto the ground in a heap. Huntress felt like puking at the sight, staring at her first official kill. Goddamn did she not like this feeling.

"He's done," she then spoke, putting a finality to this screwed up situation. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Robin looking miserable and Black Canary stone faced. Out of the other, Batgirl was helping Nightwing up, the two then walking over towards them, cautious as they drew near.

Once they were in speaking distance, the two amateur vigilante's parted to stand on their own. "Not sure I approve of how this ended, but thanks for your help," Nightwing said.

That made Huntress scowl. What the Hell, was everyone going to harp about her killing that guy? He was _going_ to kill _them._ It was perfectly in self-defense! Did she need to refuse to help others so that they'd want her help?

"Well, I didn't ask for your opinion," the dark-haired woman snapped, lowering her crossbow down. "You weren't exactly winning the fight and if I didn't do something, it'd be us with...sharp…"

The purple-clad woman trailed off as she noticed movement. Looking over Nightwing's shoulder, her eyes began to widen as the assassin rose up onto his feet, looking no worse for wear aside from the arrow sticking out of him. "The Hell…" she murmured.

That caused everyone else to turn and freeze at the sight of the man. At that point, the assassin raised a hand up and grabbed the shaft of the bolt, giving a sharp tug and pulling it out. "This isn't over," the guy said before he twirled the arrow in his hand.

Suddenly, he stopped spinning the bolt, jerking his hand up by his head. Huntress only had a second to realize the arrowhead was pointing towards them when the assassin threw the projectile. It flew through the air as if it had been shot out of her crossbow and unfortunately with the same deadly accuracy right at Batgirl.

It seemed as if all time stopped for Huntress and the others. The only thing that moved was the arrow, closing the distance between it and the target. Something screamed in the dark-haired woman's mind that something truly bad was going to happen and she couldn't do a single thing to stop it.

And then Katana dropped into view, landing right in front of Batgirl. A blur streaked from sky to ground in front of the Asian woman, Huntress realizing an instant later that it was Katana's sword. Incredibly, she struck the arrow in midair, the bolt splitting from tip to end in half. One half passed off harmlessly to the left of the woman while the other went between Batgirl and Nightwing, passing right through Huntress' hair until the arrow halves stuck into something behind them.

Time sped up again, along with what the purple-clad woman felt was her heart. She hadn't realized it had stopped beating; heck, she hadn't realized she stopped breathing until she gasped for air. It seemed to be the same for everyone else as they collectively flinched.

And then, "Where the Hell have you been?" Huntress demanded as her chest visibly rose and shrank with each breath she took.

"Not now," Katana replied shortly. "We still fight."

That snapped Huntress back to where she should have been focusing. "Canary, I don't care what it takes, we need you to do your Canary Cry," she barked out. "Now would be a damn good time."

"Cover your ears," the blonde warned as she turned to face the assassin, forcing Robin to step with her.

Before she could do anything, the shrill sound of a siren echoed off in the distance. Oh sure, now the police decided to show up. At the very least, it caused the assassin to turn his gaze to look behind him down the street. He must not have been happy at this new development.

Then he returned his eyes to them. "Consider yourselves fortunate: your lives have been spared for a brief time. Enjoy it while it lasts." Then, the man took off running, disappearing into a nearby alleyway.

And like that, the tension vanished from the group, almost as if they were all letting out a sigh of relief.

"Not going to lie, that was intense," Robin spoke then.

"No kidding," Huntress replied. "So, are you three going to tell us what that was all about? Cause frankly, I think you owe us that much."


	15. A Reporter Scorned

Court was in session again.

Cain had no illusion what this was about. The Court had found out about last night's activities and it was clear they weren't pleased by it. To an extent he wasn't either, but he had to hold his ground. It was the norm when a plan didn't go exactly as it should have been.

Of course, most plans never went the way they were supposed to…

"Not only did you set a trap to ensnare the Batman, but you allowed the Talon leader to implement it," a court member was saying. "And despite this, the Batman still got away?"

"The Batman is highly skilled," Cain retorted. "A fighter of his caliber isn't going to be defeated simply."

"Perhaps if there had been only one Talon," the court member countered, "but you had three— _three—_ Talons along with the Talon leader and neither of them were able to ensure the Batman's demise. I believe the other court members are in agreement when I say that is unacceptable."

That was true. Cain hadn't expected the Dark Knight to be able to fight off three Talons, especially after how the first fight at the Stryker Manor went. He had underestimated the vigilante's skill and ability to adapt and that had cost them a positive kill. While Owlman had delivered a fatal stroke during the fight, the man had managed to escape in the sewers. None of the Talons were able to find a body so there was no visual confirmation of the vigilante's death.

Unacceptable indeed.

However, Cain was very well familiar with how much trauma a body could take; how much blood a person could afford to lose before they went into shock and their body systems began to fail. Since there were no signs of the Dark Knight leaving the sewers, it was entirely possible he had fallen to his injuries. A favorable fantasy, but one he couldn't indulge in without physical proof.

Still, even if the Batman survived, he would not be in any state to oppose the Court. This did open a window of opportunity.

"Talons will be scouring the city for the Batman's body," Cain assured the Court. "There will be no rest until he is found, alive or dead."

"And if he's alive?" a woman court member asked.

"Then he will be finished by any means necessary."

"A confident boast," the first court member sneered. "One that you haven't been able to fulfill as of late. What guarantee do we have that you will succeed this time? Even now one of your best Talons was unable to eliminate the rats that discovered Clark's safehouse."

That was also another problem. Three of Gotham's vigilantes had managed managed to discover Clark's safehouse in the alleyway where he died. They had taken everything of importance, most likely to obtain evidence of the Court of Owls' existence. Were it not for the security cameras hidden throughout the hidden room, they would have never discovered this.

Worst still, when a Talon had confronted the three atop the GCPD building of all places, they managed to escape death until they came upon yet another vigilante group, the ones calling themselves the Birds of Prey. The two groups were able to hold off the Talon until a police presence closed in on their location, forcing him to retreat. That left at least six eyewitnesses that needed disposing.

If the Batman's escape was unacceptable, allowing multiple witnesses alive was reprehensible, a shame upon the Chief Trainer of the Talons. Even now Cain couldn't help but clench his jaw tightly at the thought. It didn't even matter that the Court should have emptied Clark's safehouse the moment after he was killed; it was a loose end that should have been dealt with a long time ago.

"The Talon that faced them was clearly their superior," Cain eventually replied. "I have no doubt that another confrontation would eliminate not only those vigilantes, but also the Birds of Prey."

"You think sending another Talon after them will clean this mess up?" another court member questioned.

"One, most likely—but that is not what I mean. I plan to authorize multiple Talons to create one-on-one battles and that will end their threat."

There was a prolonged silence at this as the Court mulled over the white-haired man's plan. Then the woman court member spoke, "That holds merit, not to mention reeks of desperation. As I recall, is that not the basis for the Night?"

Cain hadn't considered this, but now that it was brought to his attention he did have to admit they shared many similarities. "The concepts are the same," he admitted, "though I am not advocating—"

"I believe this plan speaks to a larger obstacle," a court member interrupted then, silencing Cain. "For too long the Court has wallowed in its own hubris, allowing its pawns to assume too much control. The Mob Families have bred arrogance in their ranks to the point of believing themselves powerful. The emergence of the vigilantes, starting with the Batman, has shifted the power in this city to the point it has given rise to individuals even we had no foresight of. The Iceman, the intrusive Cobblepot, even the insane Joker—who not once, but twice changed the dynamic of Gotham. Gotham is hardly the city we once knew it to be."

"There have been too many voids in the city's structure," another member agreed. "The constant power struggles left in the wake of catastrophes is chipping away at our power. Where once we had complete ownership of the city government, ambitious peons are usurping positions left and right."

"So what do you intend on doing about this?" the first court member inquired, a hint of fight in his voice. It seemed he was not in favor of what was about to be proposed.

"I believe it is time to institute another Night."

Over the course of Cain's tenure with the Court of Owls, he had heard repeated calls for a Night. Each time cooler heads had suppressed such action—in fact, the American Civil War had been the setting for the second and last Night ever used. The chaos of that bloody conflict had given a perfect backdrop for the Court to consolidate power.

Amazingly enough, instead of hearing all-out rejection at this suggestion, Cain picked up the soft murmurings of consideration from the Court. For a moment the white-haired man thought he was misreading what was going on in front of him.

That all changed when the first court member replied, "I believe you may be right."

Again, this was the time where someone would reject the notion, yet that is not what happened. "Do we have all the targets picked?" someone asked.

"A list is always maintained," another answered. "Though I believe it needs to be updated to include the vigilantes—all of them."

There were hushed whispers of agreement. "It seems we are in agreement," a court member said. Then she addressed Cain, "Mr. Cain, please prepare the Talons."

"At once," the white-haired man replied.

However, before he could leave, another point was brought up. "You know, we do find ourselves at an opportune moment. Thanks to a prior incident, we have come across a new training program that holds much promise."

Those words alone made Cain scowl. He knew what this "program" was. It had all the markings of rendering him obsolete—and if that happened, he'd be forced into an early retirement not of his choosing. "I must protest—" he began.

"You're right, this is an opportunity," someone agreed. "How close is this program to being operational?"

"It shouldn't take long if my understanding is correct. We just need to gather the necessary subjects."

"And what about our current roster of Talons?" another inquired. "A lot was invested into them. It would be a shame to cast them away."

"Don't think of it as 'casting away.' If anything, we can see just how useful this program is against the traditional methods—how we currently train the Talons. A competition could be in order."

There was further murmurings of agreement, none of which Cain was happy with. Who did these people think they were? How could they simply think replacing years of battle-harden, centuries-crafted techniques would be done with ease? The fools.

"This is not a game," he seethed openly to the Court. "You cannot blind yourself to some new toy, not when you're discussing the use of a Night. It's too important to overburden it with...with an experiment."

He was met with silence from that outburst, right until a court member said, "Your objection is duly noted, Mr. Cain. Perhaps discussion of this should be further debated before we order its implementation. For now though, go prepare your Talons. They need to be ready by the end of the week."

Though unsatisfied, Cain was not one to disobey his orders. Nodding his head, he then turned and left the room. It was apparent the Court was not ready to adjourn just yet, most likely to continue this pipe dream of theirs. It made Cain sick just to think about it.

Though it was mentioned before, it bore repeating: the fools.

* * *

Vicki stormed out of the elevator, a murderous glint in her eyes, face twisted in rage. She ignored the squawking protestations of the secretary as she cried out, "You can't go in there!"

Oh no, no one was going to tell Vicki Vale what to do. Not some worthless secretary, not some meddlesome security squad, and certainly not a playboy CEO who had the _gall_ to leave her gilted and dateless at the biggest ball of the year. Scorned did not do justice to the way she felt, for what happened to her. Fury didn't even come close either.

And Bruce Wayne was going to feel every last shred of it.

Raising her hands, the redhead grabbed the the doorknobs to Wayne's office and gave them a twist, pushing hard to fling them open. Her first genuine obstacle arrived at that moment as she practically ran face first into the door, the slamming of her body against the wood echoing throughout the waiting room.

Staring at the doors stunned, Vicki began twisting and turning the knobs rapidly, hearing the jiggling sound of locks staying firmly in place. Oh, so now Wayne was locking her out now? That fucking bastard.

"Hiding from me?!" she practically screeched as she rattled the knobs heatedly. "You wish you can hide from me, you low-life scumbag! I'm a freaking journalist! I know where you live! I know where you sleep! You _can't_ hide from me!"

And that's when the secretary had the balls to actually appear at her side and grab her arms, forcing the redhead away from the doors with unexpected strength. "Get away from Mr. Wayne's office, or I'll call security on you!" the young woman threatened, nearly shoving the reporter towards the elevator. She then stood between Vicki and the office doors, her arms crossing over her chest as she gave a stern look.

"Go ahead, call security!" Vicki shouted at the bitch. "I'm not leaving here until I talk to your pigheaded boss. I don't care what it takes, if I have to invoke the freaking Freedom of Information Act, I will get into that office!"

"In case you haven't noticed, the doors are locked, which means—"

"I don't give a crap if they are locked! I'll rip them down piece by piece if I have to!"

"—which means," the secretary continued, ignoring Vicki's threat, "that Mr. Wayne is _not...here._ "

That made Vicki pause. Not here? Wayne wasn't here in his office hiding from her? "Then where the Hell is he?" she practically seethed.

"Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you," the secretary replied coolly. "Now you have ten seconds to get back in the elevator and leave the premises. If you don't, you will be hearing from the Wayne Enterprises legal team."

Vicki glared at the bitch, expecting her to wilt at any moment. Secretaries were only low-wage slaves and rarely made it a habit to fight on their employer's behalf, immediately calling security when something went wrong. Surprisingly, this secretary had more steel than the average wage slave, standing her ground firmly until Vicki saw no other recourse than to retreat. "I'll be back," she warned the young woman, "you can count on it."

Turning around, Vicki marched back to the elevator and a punched the down button. As it turned out, the doors slid open almost immediately. Getting on, she just barely caught the triumphant look on the secretary's face as the doors closed, which served to infuriate the reporter further. Too roughly, she hit the button for the ground floor, causing the elevator to begin its descent.

So, not only had Wayne ditched her, he decided to avoid her completely by not even showing up for work. She hadn't believed that excuse when she first called Wayne Tower; it was practically code to reporters meaning someone didn't want to talk with you. That was why Vicki had barged into Wayne Tower and reached Wayne's office. At least she knew that the normal excuse was at least right.

However, if Wayne thought he had seen the last of her, then he had another thing coming. Just because he wasn't at work didn't mean she couldn't track him down elsewhere. Everyone in Gotham knew where Wayne Manor was, so all she had to do was drive out there and bang on his door until he opened up. Last she had heard, Wayne had yet to replace the old family butler so he would have to personally open up for her lest she break in.

The corner of her mouth twitched up into a small smirk. Oh how she would love to see the rich boy cleaning up glass from a window she broke. He probably didn't even know how to use a broom. Perhaps she'd break one anyways if only to interrupt his spoiled rich life.

* * *

It was much harder to operate life-saving medical equipment without a second pair of hands. That was the first thing Bruce had learned upon returning to the cave. While burning himself had stopped the bleeding—and subsequently also cauterized the wound in his lung by pure chance, most likely due to his use of a miniature blowtorch—the fact that he had trouble breathing told him something else was wrong.

As an x-ray showed, he had a collapsed lung. Fortunately he had the equipment to reinflate it; unfortunately it took entirely too long for him to set everything up, including gagging himself on tubes in order to get them into his lungs. A thoracentesis was impossible for him to attempt, so the crude manner in which he blew up the lung had to do the trick. Eventually, he successfully reinflated his lung. After such an ordeal, he had crashed in the medbay in the cave, resting for as long as he could.

Whatever time it was in the morning when he eventually woke up, Bruce found himself hardly caring. With agonizing breaths, the dark-haired man began pulling off his costume. His gauntlets, mask, and cape were easy enough, though bending over to remove his boots were harder than necessary due to the position he had to take to pull them off. His legs started off alright, but again, pushing them off became difficult when he had to bend over.

Lastly came his upper body and that took the most effort. Frequent breaks were required as he pulled and twisted, yanked and slipped the armor off. Eventually he was freed, though he was completely exhausted. Leaving his costume in pieces on and around the medbay bed, the billionaire stood up and stumbled his way to the metal staircase, grabbing onto the railing desperately when he got there.

One step at a time, he descended the stairs until he reached the lower plateau, once more straightening out his posture as much as he could. Walking, he headed towards the staircase; he'd be back when he recovered from this latest brush with death.

An alarm sounding off from the computer was the last thing he needed to hear at that moment.

With an aggrieved sigh, the young man turned his head to the supercomputer, seeing the screen displaying what appeared to be security footage. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, it was the security feed for the manor. Presently, he was seeing some woman pounding on his front door, her lips moving, though he wasn't able to make out what she was saying due to his distance from the screen and the angle of the security camera.

This could have come at a much better time.

Gritting his teeth, Bruce made his way up the stairs, stopping every so often to catch his breath. Breathing was practically agony at this point, but he pushed on until he reached the top of the stairs. Opening the passageway and sliding into his study, he was quick to shut the grandfather clock back into place before steadily moving towards the study door.

Because there wasn't a certain butler around, Wayne Manor had become less...organized over the year. Bruce wasn't quite ready to have a maid service clean the house, mostly due to the possibility of someone finding the cave entrance—not something he was willing to chance. So that was why much of the house was messy, with clothes sprawled over furniture and the floor, the occasional dirty dish in the sink or on the counter top.

This turned out to be a good thing as a robe was draped over the back of a couch. Grabbing it, Bruce pulled it on, wincing as his movements pulled on his torso. He was still only in boxer briefs, leaving the rest of him nude as the day he was born. Once he had the robe on, he pulled it tightly closed before tying the cloth sash into a knot to keep it that way.

Leaving the study, Bruce was thankful it wasn't that long of a trip to the front door. From here he could hear the incessant pounding on the door, coupled with the woman ringing the doorbell every so often. Clearly she wanted his attention.

Doing his best to reign in the near-constant grimace on his face, Bruce trudged to the door, pausing only long enough to catch his breath once more when he arrived. With great reluctance, he unlocked the door and opened it, wishing a moment later that he had just ignored the entire encounter.

Right before him stood Vicki Vale and she did not look the least bit happy. "So, this is where you're hiding," she practically seethed at him.

"Can...I help you?" he asked in his most befuddled tone. It wasn't all that hard to do.

"Oh, so you want to help now," the reporter snapped, nearly barging into his home. No matter how he physically felt, Bruce would be damned if he let anyone push him aside in his own home, so he stood his ground despite the urge to groan he felt when she nearly pushed him aside.

"Where were you last night?" she demanded when she discovered she wasn't about to enter his house without a proper invite. "You told me to meet you at the ball and you never showed."

 _Ball?_ Bruce wasn't sure what Vale was talking about until he recalled the Robinson Ball she had been pestering him about. Hmm, that seemed to slip his mind when he had been stabbed last night. Some things were just more important, you know?

"Sorry about that," he apologized with feigned earnest. "Something came up last—"

"Oh, something 'came up'?" Vale mocked. "Who was she, a seventeen year old you had to bribe to keep quiet? Is she still here? I would just _love_ a photo for that story."

"Okay, Vicki, you need to calm down," Bruce warned. While he was well aware of his reputation, some lines did not need to be cross, especially when they were that damaging. "You saw the business I was doing yesterday and it ended up going on longer than I expected it to. By the—"

"By the time you were done," Vale interrupted him, "it was late and you thought the ball was over. That sound about right?"

Rude, but not entirely untrue. "That's how it happened, yes."

"So you wouldn't mind me checking on the story, right? Your secretary and security can confirm that, surely."

Okay, Bruce was beginning to lose his patience with this. This wasn't the first time they had crossed paths, not to mention not leaving on good terms. Though Vicki was considered one of the top reporters in Gotham, there was only so much damage she could do that wouldn't destroy her in the process. Lucius may prefer to be cordial to everyone, but there were some people not worth that effort and Vale had been proving to be such a person.

"You know, Vicki, I believe I've been a good sport about this," Bruce began, seeing the redhead on the verge to refute that. He didn't give her the chance as he put more steel in his voice, something that caught her off guard—and more importantly kept her quiet. "But you come to my company and flaunt financial statements about some skylight that frankly has nothing to do with me. You then bully me into taking you to some ball, something that frankly falls well down on my list of priorities. So when I get something that may impact my company, I'm putting that right at the top of things I care about. If you can't handle that, then perhaps you need to go bother some other corporate CEO because I've just about had enough of your demands."

Vale looked completely flabbergasted by that speech. Her mouth hung wide open, her astonishment clearly written on her face. Bruce felt like he had finally gotten into the reporter's head, but found himself mistaken as fury twisted onto her face. "So that's it? After everything I've done for you?" she demanded. "Who was it that helped you get over that Elliot fiasco? Me, that's who. I can make your life so much harder and all I've ever done is fix up your messes. And this is how you treat me?"

She then shot her arms up and roughly pushed him as hard as she could. It didn't do much but make the dark-haired man grunt. With a shrill growl, Vale pushed him again and again, much to Bruce's growing annoyance. Really, she thought she could beat him up? If she wasn't careful, he'd press charges against her for assault if she kept this up.

Getting tired of this charade, Bruce raised his hands up and caught the redhead by her wrists, stopping her little tantrum. "Let go of me!" she shrieked at him, squirming against his grip. It was a testament to how weaken he was that the woman was able to pull out of his grip. Glaring at him, she then threatened, "You ever touch me that way again and you'll be having a harassment suit on your desk before sundown."

Bruce wasn't about to get into a heated debate of who was wrong or right in this situation. His security feed had caught everything so no matter what twist the reporter used, she would lose and lose badly. "Just as long as you get off my porch, fine," he grunted at her.

Vale never lost her glower, rubbing one of her wrists with her other hand. However, her eyes did dip down from his face and paused at his chest. With a burst of speed, she suddenly launched her hands out and grabbed the hem of his robe, pulling it open.

By the time Vale's eyes had widened, Bruce had yanked himself away from his grasp and closed his robe. "Get out," he barked, reaching hand up to slam the door in her face.

"What...what happened to you, Bruce?" the redhead asked softly, her eyes never moving away from his chest despite the fact it was hidden from sight. "Those scars."

This was a question the dark-haired man never wanted to answer, but right now he found himself in that position. "Polo," he threw out before he began to shut the door.

Vale quickly moved into the doorway, stopping the door from being shut as she pressed a hand against it. "Polo?" she repeated incredulously. "Either you're the worst polo player ever, or you think I'm an idiot. Even I know you can't burn yourself from playing a sport."

Bruce would have looked down at his injury, but he resisted the urge. The burnt tissue was going to look more horrible than it actually was, but it made explaining even more difficult. Instead, he leaned towards Vale, using his height to loom over her. It had the exact reaction he wanted, the reporter stepping back and away from the doorway. "This conversation is over," he told her, his voice dropping in tone and octave before he stepped back and shut the door quickly, locking it as well.

* * *

Vicki stared at the closed door for several seconds before she slowly turned away and began to walk back to her car. Gone was her anger—well, not completely gone, but it wasn't the overbearing fury she had been feeling—and in its place was her reporter's sense. Something else was afoot, she could practically taste it.

For someone as outgoing as Bruce Wayne was, it shouldn't have been surprising to find that his body had taken some punishment over the years. A scar here and there would have served to enhance his already thick mystique. However, that burn she saw on his chest was recent—very recent. She may not have had a background in forensics or medicine, but even she could tell how recent an injury was and she could practically smell the charred flesh even now.

And what had the man said? Polo? The redhead snorted at the thought even as she arrived at her car. Opening the door, she slid in and slammed the car door shut, yet she held off from putting her key in the ignition, opting to look at the looming face of Wayne Manor. No way had Bruce been playing a late game of polo; it was too absurd to consider.

So what had he been up to? And how did he get that ugly wound? And all of those scars? For once, Vale felt that her original story of law enforcement meeting up with an illegal vigilante was peanuts to this new story. Oh yes, there was definitely something here, something Bruce Wayne wanted to keep under wraps.

And it was her job to find out just what that was.


	16. Union Of Necessity

When every breath sent a tremor of pain through you, painkillers were a godsend. Because of the class of painkillers he was taking, it was in Bruce's best interest that he didn't drive; a call to Lucius informing him of a sudden desire to globetrot took care of all of his corporate responsibilities. It bought the young man some much needed recovery time, at least with him not leaving the mansion.

While Bruce had done patrols in less than ideal conditions—pulled muscles, strained tendons, a broken bone once—none of those injuries had been as severe as the one he was currently dealing with.

So far his own medical administrations were holding up. His formerly collapsed lung was still inflated, his cauterized wound was beginning to scab over, and his breathing was becoming easier, all over a three day period. It helped that he had put in an IV catheter and began pumping his body full of fluids and antibiotics—and coincidentally allowed him to use IV pain medications, which had a faster effect on him.

Just because he was recovering though, didn't mean he had stopped all physical activity. He still followed as much of his training regiment as he was able to, making sure he didn't over do it...well, overdo it for him. He did have to be mindful of the IV equipment lest he rip the catheter out and have to restart another one.

However, there were other things he could do that didn't require physical exertion. In fact, that's what the dark-haired man was doing, sitting in front of the supercomputer as it ran a program. It was a testament to how fatigued he had been the last few days that he hadn't thought of doing this before.

As the program completed, a map of the Gotham sewer network appeared on the screen. Using his memory, Bruce located his entry point into the sewers and then retraced his steps, searching for where he had encountered Owlman and his Talons. For additional references, he had brought up the video recording from the cameras in his lens, making sure he was following the map correctly.

"There," he spoke to himself when he found the point. "Computer: mark location G5 on map." In response, a grid of squares appeared over the sewer map, one of the squares blinking red.

With that marked, Bruce then ordered, "Computer: find the nearest exit points to this location, range between zero and two hundred feet." Again, the computer went into action as it performed the command. It took a few seconds, but one by one, and sometimes two, yellow diamonds appeared on the map, marking where each exit was.

Once it was finished, Bruce then opened another window, this time searching out a map of the city of Gotham. When he found the one he wanted, he then ordered, "Computer: superimpose Gotham City map over the sewer network map. Allow all markers to be viewable through both maps."

Watching, Bruce saw as the city map was placed over the sewer one, the computer calibrating and adjusting the images until they fit each other. The red square and yellow diamonds soon appeared on the city map, which caused the young man to lean forward in his seat to examine it.

Considering he had started in a poorer neighborhood, Bruce was surprised that his travels in the underground tunnels had led him to downtown Gotham—and more importantly in an area owned by the city's elite. While the red square didn't show much of anything of importance, all of the indicated entry points into the sewers showed were either on the street or next to buildings well known for their owners.

Coincidentally, didn't the legend of the Court of Owls say that their members were of the upper class? This couldn't be mere chance. Fingers dancing on the computer, Bruce began to compile the names and addresses of every building in a ten block radius of the red square, which subsequently included all of the yellow diamonds as well. Along with the building names and addresses, he also sought out each building's owner or ownership group. Entering the command, he then leaned back in his chair and watched as the large screen flashed before him.

It wasn't long before the results came back. As a new window popped up with a list of names, Bruce began to critically read it. He didn't bother crossing any names off, not without definitive proof and none of the names he read deserved to be removed. However, one name did stick out to him and he was quick to memorize it.

"Computer: cross-reference all financial transactions belonging to the people on this list," Bruce commanded, the supercomputer quickly going into action. As it worked though, Bruce returned his attention back to the name that had caught his attention.

Next to one of the sewer entry points was a high-rise condominium. While that wasn't of anything of interest, the owner of the building was: a Hershel Simmons. The same Simmons who just happened to be a senator whose niece had been kidnapped. The connection was loose right now, but unless the computer showed no connection between Simmons and the rest of the Gotham elite, it looked like the senator was going to have an unexpected visitor.

Closing his eyes, Bruce took a deep breath and held back the grimace he felt working onto his face as he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. It wasn't as overwhelming as it used to be, but it was still noticeable. Perhaps it would be best if he held off on further patrols tonight, if only to give himself more time to recover. One night's rest should be sufficient—

A sharp alert went off from the computer, interrupting his thoughts. Looking at the screen, the dark-haired man watched as several windows opened, detailing financial transactions just like he requested. Yet, in all the records, certain rows had been highlighted, the text blinking from black to a white over and over.

Examining the row, he found it contained what was supposed to be a wire transaction, yet there was no discernible account it was transferred to. It was as if the transaction had been a normal withdrawal, but one look to the amount withdrawn screamed at Bruce that this wasn't it seemed. The amount was too big, even for someone with plenty of wealth. Scanning through the rest of the list, the dark-haired man found other withdrawals, which were considerably less than the highlighted transaction.

Accessing the other windows, Bruce searched for more highlighted rows, finding plenty that lacked these transactions; however, there were also other windows that had multiple eye-catching transactions. And as it turned out, Senator Simmons had his own highlighted rows. Under further examination, Simmons' odd withdrawals were a match for the others.

It seemed he was going to have to make that visit sooner rather than later.

* * *

The TV was on, but Harvey Dent was barely giving it any of his attention. Most of it was on the files that involved the McKillen case. Though he had months to do it, he wanted to be sure that he wasn't missing anything. Even in Gotham, the judicial system was not the fastest thing around.

That was even more true since he came to office, filing case after case after case.

The McKillen case was going to be the biggest one he had ever taken on since becoming the District Attorney. This didn't involve any little fish, but two big ones. A catch to be sure and not one he wanted released. That was both metaphorical and literal. So he was reviewing, hoping to find something that may have been missed, then have one of Gordon's boys look into it.

There was still the danger that the officers could be bribed between now and trial, and witnesses intimidated or killed. However, there was very little he could do to speed this up, what with motions to delay and other stalling tactics the defense would use. He was not innocent of doing such things either. Unless a plea bargain came up, he was gearing up for court and he was not going to hold back.

Unconsciously, a hand slipped into his pants pocket and began to toy with some of his loose change. It was one of many habits he had developed over time. It wasn't the only one either; it's just right now his mind decided to go with that habit.

As he turned over a page, he heard a knock on his office door. His forehead creased at the disturbance. Shouldn't he have been buzzed by the secretary instead? Rare was it that anyone took the time to knock, unless it was a fellow government employee.

He didn't have many of those, though. There weren't enough people here who had made it a habit of visiting him.

He grunted out permission to enter, glancing up in time to see a man in a suit open his door. The most curious thing about this guy was the flattop, like this guy had been in the military and liked the hairstyle. Blond, he thought, and narrow eyes. Something not right about him, but what could it be?

He soon found his answer when a second shorter man moved past the first. In comparison, he was much...heavier was the polite word here. His hair was white though his face held no wrinkles to it like you'd think someone elderly would have. Had it whitened prematurely? Moving past that, it was styled, almost wing-like in a way, but he recognized it all the same.

He knew who this man was and he was not in the mood to greet him politely.

"Thorne," he stated, his eyes narrowing.

"Close the door, Frankie," Rupert Thorne told his goon.

"Yes Sir, Mr. Thorne," Frankie replied, shutting the two of them in a room that was suddenly too small for Harvey's tastes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, holding back from adding anything else that some would consider unhealthy.

"Such a hostile tone there, Councilor. Relax, I'm just here for a chat," Thorne spoke as he took a seat, not bothering to wait to be offered one.

"A chat?" Harvey repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't be so suspicious, Harvey. I'm a simple businessman, a concerned citizen if you will, who would like to be able to have friendly relations with his elected officials. Nothing more, nothing less," Thorne replied.

A simple businessman? Oh yes, Thorne's front. Thorne Enterprises. He was trying to go for the corporate look, a way to be able to launder large amounts of money through various financial enterprises. The thing was it was working, which is why he and Gordon had elected to go after the McKillens first. They were easier prey in comparison to Thorne. Now he was beginning to wonder if they had picked correctly.

"Very well," he said as tactfully as he could. "What would you like to talk about, Mr. Thorne?"

"Much better," Thorne nodded, a satisfied smirk appearing on his face. Making himself comfortable, the hefty man began, "You strike me as a real straight to the point kind of man. To the point I shall go. I'm a man of vision. I see this city changing with every day and only fools ignore that change. Don't think I haven't noticed how cozy your office has become with the police and, more specifically, the Commissioner.

"As a man of vision and a businessman, I can see an opportunity here, one that benefits everyone involved. Care to take a guess what that opportunity is?"

"I'm all ears," Harvey stated, slipping his hand out of his pocket and pulling out a coin. Almost wedged between two of his fingers was a quarter; nothing real special about it, just some change left over from his trip to Starbucks that morning.

"With the way things are going, the career criminals are going the way of the dodo. Add to the fact that there is a new element in this city—I don't think I need to remind you of what that is since that Simmons kidnapping business that's been on all the news lately," Thorne continued. "The very structure of this city is changing, Harvey, and this is where I think we can help one another. I would like to help you clean up the streets of Gotham. Make it a safe place, you know, where one can raise a family without being afraid they might be mugged on the way home, or in the middle of the park."

The District Attorney raised an eyebrow at that. "You want to help with that?" His skepticism could be heard a mile away. Hell, Gilda could have heard it and she was on the other side of the city. His fingers began to rub the quarter between them.

"Of course. Like I said, I am a concerned citizen of this city. Why wouldn't I want to make it a better place?" Thorne posed his question, not expecting an answer.

What was the angle? Where was this man going with this? Why would Rupert Thorne, the last major crime boss in this city, suddenly want to do something that was against his best interests? Definitely, something was fishy, but if he was to find out what, he would have to play along.

"What are you proposing?" he asked.

"Simple: I feed you information on various plans and schemes underway in the criminal underworld, you take them out, and I clean up what remains," Thorne stated.

And in the process he gains a monopoly over crime. He knew what Thorne meant by cleaning up; the police and his office would go after Thorne's rivals and whatever was left of those groups would be swallowed up by Thorne.

Maybe he was taking long in his answer because the crime lord began to speak again. "I've noticed how your partner, the Commissioner, has been making trips out to Blackgate. I know what you're trying to do there, but I happen to know that the current warden of that prison was fired by none other than Gordon. An ally, she will not make. Not so long as Gordon remains commissioner. I, on the other hand, am a more willing partner."

That was alarming. That Thorne knew they were trying to get Zorbatos on board—and not getting anywhere to tell the truth—was very sobering. What else did he know about? Was there a chance that he knew about Dent's visits to the station that included stops on the roof? Did he have dirt on him, the kind that that reporter was throwing around to get a story? He wasn't too worried about her, but the man across from him was a different matter.

"That's...a generous offer," Dent said as diplomatically as he could. "I can't help but think that there are some strings attached to this."

"We're both of the same mind, Harvey. We both want stability in Gotham. You and your justice system, and myself with economics. So long as there are these power plays almost every year, stability is the one thing we won't have," Thorne replied. "But think about it. How many punks and thugs will you get off the streets? If you think you're doing good now, with my help, you'll do better. Gordon will be in a better position to keep his job regardless of the person who becomes mayor. It's a win for everyone, and more importantly, we will have stability. You can't tell me you aren't tempted."

He had to hand it to him, Thorne knew how to throw a pitch. Yet, there was a part of him that felt dirty just by speaking with him. For some reason, he felt like he would be making a deal with the devil if he accepted any terms with the crime boss.

"I'm going to need to think this one over," the District Attorney said at last. "This isn't the kind of thing to do in the heat of the moment, if you understand my meaning."

"Sure, I understand. Run it by Gordon if you want. See what he thinks." Hmm, strange. He would have thought that Thorne would have sounded more disappointed that he didn't get an automatic agreement. Was this more proof that there was more to this that he thought?

"I'll give you a few days to think it over," Thorne continued as he stood up. "For the sake of this city, you know what you need to do, Harvey. Make the right decision."

Dent didn't take his eyes off the older man until after he was gone. The moment he was out of sight, the attorney slumped back in his seat. That had taken a lot more energy than he had thought. To walk a line that showed no friendliness, yet no hostility, that was a tough one.

Glancing at the coin that he had been fiddling with, he flipped it in the air, watching it as it rose up and began to fall. Catching it, he slapped it onto the back of his other hand. Pulling his hand away, he noted that he had gotten tails.

Not that there was any meaning to this. It was nothing more than a stress reliever for him. You never knew which side you were going to get with a coin toss. Though, now that he thought about it, whatever answer he decided to give to Thorne might as well be left to the mercy of a random coin toss.

* * *

There was no way Huntress was going to allow guests at the Birdcage. It was practically an unwritten rule that the only people allowed there were the three Birds of Prey, an uninvited guest notwithstanding. It was mostly for security reasons, what with their secret identities. Still, it was imperative that the Birds meet up with the so-called Batclan, especially after that battle with that crazed assassin.

Black Canary wasn't so arrogant to think they could take that guy on again. She was good, mind you, but this guy was in a whole other class. She would've even said he was better than Batman, which was a scary thought all unto itself.

So, when their own hideout was off-limits and the Batclan refused to invite them to their secret clubhouse, that meant they had to meet at a neutral place. There were plenty of those throughout Gotham, but that didn't mean all six of them knew the same places. That was the reason why they chose one of the tallest buildings in the city to meet.

That building being Wayne Tower.

The Birds were early, having scouted the area to make sure they weren't being tailed or watched by any unwanted assailants. Once they felt they were alone, they staked out the roof, taking up vantage spots in order to make sure no one they wanted around found their way there. Crouching down, Black Canary held a pair of binoculars in front of her eyes, staring through them as she searched the surrounding buildings for unwanted eavesdroppers.

" _They're late,"_ Huntress growled through their comm. link, obviously annoyed. " _They should've been here already."_

"It's only been a few minutes, H," the blonde woman replied. "They'll be here."

" _What makes you think of that, BC?"_ the purple-clad vigilante countered. " _It's not like we go to the others place and have a barbecue. Hell, we barely even run into each other and we all patrol the same damn city."_

"You do realize this was your idea to have a meeting, right?"

" _Of course I do. But when I set up a time, I expect people to be there before that time. It's common courtesy, ya know."_

Well, that was a good point, one that Black Canary didn't respond to, not that she had the chance. It was right then that Katana spoke up, " _I hear voices—southeast corner of building."_

The blonde woman immediately shot up as she turned and began jogging around the cement stand that the building's antenna stood on. She had taken a spot towards the northwest corner, with Katana on the south side and Huntress somewhere on the east. Turning the corner around the stand, she soon spotted the other Birds standing a few feet from the southeast corner, Katana with a hand on her sword hilt and Huntress hiding both of her hands beneath her cape, most likely holding a couple of her shuriken. Coming to a stop behind and to the right of Katana, the blonde woman waited.

She saw the grapple hooks first. There were three in total and each had a sharp point sticking into the roof. She heard the voices next. "Ya know, Robin, you didn't need to come with us," a male voice spoke, most likely the one belonging to Nightwing. "That wasn't a scratch you got the other night."

There was a snort in response. "You afraid you can't keep up with me, Nightwing?" Definitely a younger man's voice—Robin's. "We're finally on equal ground."

There was a loud laugh in response. "Whatever you say, Lil' Red."

That was when a woman's voice jumped. "C'mon guys, we're late as it is. Quit your bickering and let's get to the top already."

"At least one of them knows they're late," Huntress muttered.

That's when Nightwing's head popped up over the side of the building, stopping when he saw the three women. "Oh, looks like they beat us here, guys," he called out to his fellow vigilantes, then swung an arm up onto the roof as he began to pull himself up.

Next came Batgirl, who had an annoyed look on her face. She obviously wanted to say something, but held her tongue, instead choosing to finish her climb. It was a couple minutes later that the third and last member showed up.

"A little help, guys?" Robin asked as his head appeared over the roof's edge. In response, Nightwing and Batgirl moved to him, kneeling down and reaching over to hook their arms beneath Robin's armpits. As one, they hauled the youngest-looking member up onto the building, where they all took a moment to straighten themselves out before turning to greet them.

Of course, it had to be Huntress who spoke first, "It's about time you showed up."

"Sorry, traffic was horrible," Nightwing returned, not the least bit put out by the dark-haired woman's irritation. "And you don't even want me to start on parking."

"Cool it, 'wing," Batgirl reprimanded, then stepped towards the other three women as she said, "Thanks for meeting with us tonight. We—"

"Save it," Huntress interrupted, earning her a glare from Black Canary. Just because they weren't friendly didn't mean they had to go out of their way to be jerks to each other. "Tell us what that fight was all about. That guy was way too tough to be just some guy you ran into."

As Nightwing gave the purple-clad woman a stony look, it was Robin who stepped forward and began their story. "A couple of weeks ago we came across a gruesome murder scene. We've been investigating it and ended up finding a secret...ummm, apartment I guess? Safehouse?"

Black Canary found herself raising her eyebrow at that. So they had found a hidden room, what of it?

"Anyways, while we were there, we discovered it belonged to the murder victim and that he was involved in some group calling themselves the Court of Owls."

Just hearing that name caused the blonde vigilante to stiffen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Huntress do the same, mirroring her pale, stricken face. So H had heard the same bedtime stories too. Still, this was major. "Please tell me you're joking," Black Canary said then.

Robin shook his head. "I'm being serious. Dead serious."

"No, no way," Huntress jumped in. "No, the Court of Owls doesn't exist. Never has, never will be. That's...that's just some fairy tale parents tell their kids so they don't act like little assholes."

"Oh, believe us, they're real," Nightwing grumbled loudly for everyone to hear. "How do you explain that guy we fought? The one with the owl markings on his mask?"

There was a short pause before Huntress said, "Then that guy we fought was a Talon? A freaking, bonafide Talon?"

"That's what we're telling you," Nightwing replied, his arms crossing over his chest.

That was when Katana entered the conversation. "What is this Court of Owls?" the Asian woman asked curiously.

Everyone turned to look at the woman, though it became very obvious why she wouldn't know about the Court. Swallowing deeply, Black Canary answered her, "The Court of Owls is supposed to be this secret organization that controls Gotham. Everything that happens is because of them and they keep everyone in line with their Talon—I guess meaning that guy we fought. Everyone that lives in Gotham hears this story, but no one thought it could be real."

Katana was quiet for a moment before she inquired, "Why use their Talon now? What would they normally use it for?"

"To keep themselves in power," Huntress replied with a silent "duh" at the end. "Anyone that threatens their power, they kill. End of story."

"Someone like us?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Then someone like Batman?" Katana pressed.

That made everyone pause. Surely if the Court of Owls existed, then they would've sent a Talon after the Batman when he first appeared. And why stop there? During Batman's absence, there was a power void in the city that anyone and everyone could have taken advantage of and many did. Yet, this was the first any of them had confronted this Court. Why not consolidate their power when there was barely any resistance left in the city? A glance to the other vigilantes told Black Canary everyone was having the same thoughts as her.

Seeing as how no one else was going continue their chat, Black Canary felt she might as well voice what she was at least thinking. "Perhaps this isn't the real Court of Owls and someone just using their legend? It wouldn't be the first time someone did that."

Robin didn't seem to buy that. "This is a secret organization, right? And if their stories are true about them ruling Gotham since its founding, then they probably didn't feel like anyone was a real threat to their power. Why stick your neck out if you know no one can challenge you?"

That was a good point. Still, there had to be a more rational explanation for this alleged Court. "So if they didn't feel people like the Batman, Iceman, and the Joker were real threats, why did they come after you?" she asked.

"Because we found evidence that they do exist," Robin replied with a shrug. "They went out of their way to be a myth, which gives them all sorts of power just from saying their name. If we exposed them, that puts them in danger, right?"

"So they found out you knew and sent their chief assassin after you," Huntress then summarized. "How'd he find all of you?"

There was a silence from the Batclan as all three of them looked hesitant to answer. The two men then looked to Batgirl, who sent a defiant look back, as if she were refusing them. However, the two continued to stare until the redhead girl gave in. Sighing, she then said, "We thought this was over our heads, so we thought if we gave everything to Batman, he could do something with it."

"So you went looking for Batman and the Talon found you instead?" Black Canary summed up.

"...well, more like we used the Bat Signal and the Talon confronted us."

"And there's still no sign of Batman," Huntress added, the woman crossing her arms over her chest. "Where's that pointy-eared ass when you need him?"

"Do you have evidence with you?" Katana questioned then.

When the three Batclan members shook their heads, Black Canary jumped in, "Give us copies of what you have. That way if something happens to any of us, the others will still have something to work with."

That made Robin perk his head up. "You're going to help us."

Before the blonde could response, Huntress said, "We have to now. All of us are in the same boat and if we don't help each other, then we're all dead. It took six of us to barely hold off one Talon—no way do we handle this one-on-one, not without taking drastic measures."

"Like that killshot of yours?" Nightwing added.

That made the dark-haired woman gaze at the young man coolly. "Yeah, like that. No one here wants to kill people, but this assassin isn't going to just roll over because we asked him nicely. We can't hold back and if it comes down to it, it's either they're dead, or we're dead and I'm going to tell you right now that I won't be the corpse."

Huntress then held a hand out to Black Canary and Katana. "Katana is a sword master, so she can maim the guy until he can't hurt anyone; Black Canary can scream loud enough to blow out his eardrums and probably crush his skull." She then held her hand in front of her. "And I have enough gear to really put him in the hospital, which is more than I can say for your three."

"Sorry, but we're kind of on a limited budget here," Nightwing snapped. "So you've got some weapon experts—we've got the best hand-to-hand combat specialists here."

Huntress snorted. "Oh, is that so? So then that fighting we saw you do wasn't your best?"

As entertaining as this pissing contest was, it was getting them nowhere. "Cool it you two," Black Canary interrupted. Moving between the two so that one of them didn't get the idea to attack the other, the blonde continued, "We all have our strengths and weaknesses, so if we're to work together, we've got to emphasize our strengths and limit our weaknesses. From now on, we work together; we pair up; we don't leave anyone alone, got it?"

Robin nodded his head eagerly while Batgirl and Katana nodded theirs at a more sedate pace. Huntress and Nightwing glared at each other, but in the end reluctantly gave sharp nods of agreement. "Good, so where is your evidence?"

"My...our place," Nightwing answered, a slight stutter in his voice. "You want us to go get it?"

"That's right," Black Canary said. "Meanwhile, I want to go see this hidden room you found."

"So two groups," Batgirl replied. "Who's with who?"

The blonde shook her head. "Three. It's obvious you guys need some equipment, so we're going to share some of ours." She was quick to ignore the outraged look on Huntress' face when she said that. "So one of us will be with one of you. Katana and Robin can go to the Birdcage to pick up a few things; Huntress goes with Nightwing to get your evidence; Batgirl takes me to this secret room. Sound good?"

"Not really," Nightwing responded. "Why not Robin and I go to our place and your two ladies go to yours?"

"Because this Talon is going to go after the weakest of us, if he does strike. Right now that's Robin because of his injury. Since Katana did the best out of all of us, it stands to reason she can protect him better than any of us."

Nightwing looked like he was going to protest this, but Batgirl laid her hand on his forearm, interrupting whatever tirade he was going on as he turned to look at her. "This is our best plan. I know we're taking a security risk here, but we don't really have a choice now."

The two stared at each other then before the tension in the young man's body relented. "Fine, we do this their way."

"Good," Black Canary said with a sharp nod. "Let's get to work everyone."


	17. Even A Little Kid Knows

A soft breeze caressed the curtains, causing them fluttered in the air. The room was dark, but thanks to the open window, there was just enough light that allowed night vision goggles to work.

To Batman's eyes, everything took on an eerie green glow, the shadows offering a contrasting black to various pieces of furniture. The vigilante was in a well-furnished office, a large wooden desk with a couple of expensive chairs situated around it at one end of the room, a mini-bar against a wall, and several pictures hanging from the walls. Each photo was of Senator Simmons rubbing shoulders with some of the most powerful people in the world, an occasional celebrity or famous activist sprinkled about. There were even the senator's college diplomas, proudly proclaiming him a college graduate with a Bachelor's and a Law degree.

Yet it was the desk Batman was most interested in. Standing behind it, the dark-clad man rifled through the drawers, searching for something he wasn't quite sure he was looking for. It wasn't all that strange searching blindly for a lead, so he kept his eyes sharp as he opened the middle drawer, spotting various office supplies like pens, paper clips, and various niknaks.

Shoving it closed, the vigilante moved onto the drawers on the right side, starting at the top. This one was just as barren of viable leads, what with small boxes of staples, pens, and even more office supplies. Closing that one, the middle drawer showed some promise with opened envelops. Picking up a handful, Batman scanned the fronts of each envelop, noting the sender and address. As far as he could figure, they held some value to the senator, a few of which were from his bank, many from his political party, and one random one from some woman named Margaret. It seemed he would need to find out who this woman was.

Peeling open the torn tops of the envelops one at a time, Batman pulled out a letter from each, doing a quick read through to determine what their purpose was before shoving them back into the envelop. So far nothing of interest was found there, yet he went through each one to determine that none of them were of any use.

Placing the envelopes back where he found them, Batman closed the drawer before opening the bottom and final drawer. He frowned when he found it refused to budge. Fortunately there was a lock, so he wasn't completely shut out.

Reaching to his belt, the dark-clad man pulled out a small case, opening it to reveal several lock picks of various sizes. Eyeballing the lock, he pulled out one of the smaller picks and moved to insert it into the lock gap. Fiddling the tip around, he was quick to find the tumbler inside and flicked it, unlocking the drawer. Pulling out the pick, Batman then grabbed the drawer's handle and pulled it open.

The vigilante froze the moment he caught sight of what was inside the drawer. Looking out at him was a white, porcelain mask, its face reminiscent of an owl's. Now this was a strange thing for a senator to have.

Picking up the mask, Batman turned it around and back, looking at it with a critical eye. There weren't any traps or alarms should someone find it, so that told the Dark Knight Senator Simmons was a rather careless man, along with an arrogant streak. To brazenly store something like this in such an easily accessible location with only a desk lock as security spoke to the man's foolishness.

The sound of a door opening caught the vigilante's attention then. There was an audible click and light began to pour through the crack beneath the room's door. Someone was home.

Keeping the mask, Batman shut the drawer and reinserted the lock pick, locking it before he moved away from the desk. There wasn't any time to go close the window, but then he may need an exit should he be in a hurry. Besides, if this was Simmons and he was exactly who the vigilante thought he was, it wouldn't matter. Moving to one of the dark corners of the room, the Dark Knight allowed his cape to envelop his body, deactivated his night vision as he waited.

It took several minutes, but eventually the door swung open and Senator Simmons strode in, a briefcase in hand. He was oblivious to the open window due to the curtains barely moving. The older man made his way to his desk, taking a seat in the chair behind it and laying his briefcase on top of it. Audible clicks were made as he unlocked the briefcase and opened its lid, rummaging inside of it for what appeared to be files.

The entire time Batman's presence went unnoticed and the vigilante was content in merely watching. Simmons opened up one of the files, rifling through some sheets of paper inside before closing the folder and pushing it aside only to do the same with another file. Assuming this kept up, Batman was going to have to take a look at those files in case there was anything that made a stronger connection between the senator and the Court of Owls.

Clearing his throat, the man then stopped going through folders, raising a hand up so he could look at his wrist watch. "Almost time," he muttered to himself before he dug his other hand into his pocket. Pulling out a set of keys, he messed with them until he pulled out one of them and then moved to unlock the lower right drawer.

Eyes burning into the senator, Batman watched as the politician opened the drawer and froze much like the dark-clad man had earlier, though for different reasons. It was almost comical how the older man thrust a hand into the empty drawer, patting it around as if that would somehow summon the mask he sought.

"Looking for this?" Batman suddenly asked as he then extended a hand out, holding the mask out in front of him.

Instantly, Simmons flinched before he swung himself around, his eyes practically bugging out of his head as he saw the Dark Knight holding the owl mask. "What are...how did you—"

With the flick of his wrist, the vigilante sent the mask flying through the air until it landed on top of the desk with a clatter. The entire time the senator watched, head following the mask until it touched down, causing him to wince from the sound. Using that distraction, the Dark Knight closed the distance between them, standing right next to Simmons. When the older man turned back towards him, he jumped in his seat with a gasp.

Immediately, Batman shot a hand out and grabbed the senator by the knot of his tie. Putting much more force than was perhaps necessary, the dark-clad man hauled the older man out of his seat and slammed his back down on top of the desk, knocking the briefcase off and causing its contents to scatter across the floor. "What the devil are you doing?!" Simmons roared. "You can't do this to me! I'm a damn senator!"

The vigilante had to give the man credit, he was able to compose himself quickly. "What can you tell me about owls, 'Mr. Senator'," he asked mockingly.

"I have no clue what you're talking about! Now unhand me before I make your life a living Hell! Believe me, I will."

Batman scowled at the threat. Leaning closer to Simmons' face, he saw his captive begin to lose his indigent attitude. "Do I look like I care?" he growled lowly.

Bluster gone, Simmons stuttered, "Well...I-I sup-suppose not…"

"Good—now that that's out of the way, I want you to tell me about your connection to the Court of Owls."

Some of the senator's backbone returned with the question. "Are you daft? There's no such thing as the Court of Owls! It's just some bedtime story parents made up to scare little children, no more."

"Then how do you explain the mask that was hiding in your desk?" Batman countered.

"It...it was a present, that's all. Now leave me—"

With his other hand, Batman balled it into a fist and slammed it down next to the senator's head, interrupting his bald-faced lie. "The next one will be the side of your face," he warned. "The next your nose, then your throat. I can imagine how a damaged throat can be a problem for a career politician."

"You...you wouldn't," Simmons gasped.

Batman merely leaned back, releasing his grip on the man's tie. Then, quick as lightning, he rammed a fist into the side of the politician's face, snapping his head to aside as he howled out in pain. "That's your face. Next is your nose."

"I don't know anything!" Simmons cried out, cradling the side of his face with both hands. Rocking onto his side so he could look at the vigilante, he soon saw the error of his ways as Batman threw his fist again, slamming it into the older man's nose, the feeling of cartilage breaking beneath his knuckles reverberating up his arm.

Another cry of pain echoed throughout the room. "My those!" Simmons cried out, rocking back and forth across the desk. "You throke my those!"

"And next is your throat. The Court, now."

"I...I can't. They'b kill me!" Simmons protested. He let out a cry of terror the moment Batman raised his fist. "No! Thease, no!"

"I'm waiting."

Then, surprisingly, the senator began to chuckle. The very act made the Dark Knight frown. "You thave no idea what thour thoing," Simmons said darkly. Turning onto his back, he looked at the vigilante haughtily and continued, "No matter what thou do, you can't thop the Court. It is eternal and thou are but an ant to them."

Though unexpected, it at least confirmed Batman's suspicions: Simmons was a member of the Court of Owls. "Tell me where the Court is," he demanded. "I want locations, names, everything."

"So thou can what? Hunt us thown? Beath us up?" the senator sneered. "Thou can't beath us. The Court is Gothumb, now and forever. There is nothin' thou can do to thop us."

"Is that so?" the vigilante asked coolly. "Then exposing the Court's existence to the world would do nothing, right? Showing that you're part of some secret cult that sends assassins to get rid of obstacles. I'm sure the Federal Government wouldn't mind flooding Gotham with FBI, SEC, IRS, and whoever else they can find just to sniff out your Court. Just imagine, your name on the front page of every newspaper and blog in the country, each one destroying your life and reputation. That's what you call nothing, 'Senator' Simmons?"

This wasn't part of Batman's usual interrogation methods, but one had to adapt to the interrogatee. In this case, a politician who was used to covering his own ass, hiding his misdeeds be they ethically questionable to flat out illegal, would instinctively weigh his options in light of such a threat. Simmons was no different as Batman watched the older man hesitate, his political life flashing before his eyes.

Resisting the urge to smirk smugly, the dark-clad man glanced away from the senator as he fought his internal battle. His eyes ended up at Simmons' discarded briefcase, where all of its contents were scattered about on the floor. There wasn't too much unusual with what he saw and he would've ignored it as such had he not spotted something that didn't belong in a politician's briefcase. It was small, cardlike, with the distinctive numbers 10/6 on its surface.

"What the Hell is that?" Batman growled in a deadly tone, interrupting the senator's thoughts.

Frowning, the older man asked, "What are thou…"

Hand returning to Simmons' tie at the knot, Batman forced the older man further across the desk until his head hung right off of it, knocking even more things to the ground. With his other hand, the vigilante rammed it against Simmons' chin, snapping his head backwards until the edge of the desk began to dig into the back of his neck. "That is a piece of Jervis Tetch's mind control tech. What are you doing with that?"

Eyes wide, the senator stumbled through his words, only managing to say a bunch of pure nonsense. Nothing was intelligible between the stutters and gasps. Losing his patience, Batman applied pressure to the older man's chin, forcing his mouth shut and digging the desk edge further into his neck. A strained grimace appeared on Simmons' face in response, the vigilante only stopping his pressure when he was sure the senator was finished blubbering.

"I'm only going to say this one more time. If you don't give me the answer I want, then count on living the rest of your life as a quadriplegic," the dark-clad man said. "Why do you have Tetch's tech?"

Simmons' was quiet, seemingly refusing to answer. Already Batman could feel the urge to push his hand forward again and it was becoming very seductive in its plea. However, fortunately for the senator, he answered cautiously, "The Court is...interested in what that lunatic created. They...feel...as if it could...be useful…"

"Useful how?"

Simmons glanced up at the Dark Knight, his Adam's apple rolling up then down in his throat as he gulped. "There's a growing thought that they can be used to make more Talons without having to wait years as they're trained."

Batman's eyes widened at those words. He didn't have to know that was a viable option; he already saw it in action back in Tetch's Wonderland. With the right programming, anyone could be made into whatever the programmer wanted: be it a storybook character or a world-class assassin. "Where are they doing this?" he demanded heatedly.

Almost frantically, Simmons cried out, "I don't know! I swear! I'm only supposed to deliver the mind control cards and the Court would take it from there. I have no idea where they're going to do it!"

The Dark Knight began to apply pressure again, but before he could do much, the senator squeal, "I swear on my niece's life! Please! I beg of you! Mercy!"

As much as the vigilante didn't want to admit it, it was possible that Simmons didn't know. However, he did have to have some idea, some lead. "Where did you deliver the tech?"

Seeing the offered out, Simmons pounced on it. "Diamond District, in the subway terminal. Two days from now is when the exchange is supposed to happen."

"Good." Moving his hand away from the senator, he reached to his belt and pulled out a small pellet. As Simmons leaned his head forward to relieve the pain he had to be feeling in his neck, the vigilante broke the pellet in front of his face, spraying him with an odorless gas. One whiff of the gas caused the older man's eyes to roll into the back of his head and his body slumped atop the desk.

Two days...that was a long time. There wasn't really any way Batman could just leave Simmons alone for that long—he could alert the Court of Owls to his presence and they would just change the drop or use it as a trap. That meant Simmons had to disappear for that length of time.

Hmm...now where could he keep someone incapacitated for two days without anyone asking too many questions...

* * *

The alleyway was stained with something that looked like rust. According to Batgirl, this place had been the scene of a violent scuffle that ended with a dead body. So, that made this so-called rust very old blood. Lovely.

"So where is this place?" Black Canary asked as she and the redhaired vigilante entered the alleyway. The blonde's motorcycle was sitting just outside the alleyway's mouth, right where they had parked. Eyes probing the scene, Black Canary could still see the police outline where the body had been, not to mention the scratches in the brick and mortar walls.

"This way," Batgirl replied as she led the two of them to where the outline was. Stopping in front of it, Batgirl reached to the wall and pushed against one of the bricks. Unexpectedly, the brick slid inwards, which was followed by an entire section of the wall moving, revealing an entrance.

Black Canary stared at the open doorway with wide eyes. "Huh, you don't see that everyday," she quipped.

Without another word, the redhead passed through the threshold, entering the secret hideout. Quickly, Black Canary followed her down a set of stairs, coming to a stop the moment she was in a room—a very _empty_ room.

"This isn't right," Batgirl gasped, eyes flashing from side to side as she looked all over the place. "There was furniture and weapons and computers. It should all still be here!"

"Which means someone cleaned it out," the blonde woman surmised, gazing coolly at the room. Glancing about, she soon found one thing that hadn't been removed: some picture frame with what looked like words embroidered into cloth. "Was that there?"

Batgirl turned her head to look before she nodded. "Yeah, that's the old Owl poem. 'Beware the Court of Owls,' and so on." She then frowned. "But why would they leave that behind?"

A good question, not that they would solve it right then and there. This place was a bust, no point in staying. Still, Black Canary had a nagging thought that something wasn't right about this place. Were she in the Court of Owls, she would've cleaned the place out too, yet it all seemed too clean. Then there was that poem left hanging, as if it were a taunt for anyone to find it, which was absurd. The only people that would come back here were those that knew of its existence and those were few and far in-between. In fact, if she were in the Court, she would have left—

Immediately, Black Canary grabbed Batgirl's shoulder. "Don't move," she hissed, eyes darting about the room. Thankfully Batgirl didn't protest, freezing where she stood. She didn't even twitch.

Seeing nothing, the blonde vigilante focused on her other senses. Just because she couldn't see anything didn't mean that something wasn't there. Focusing on her hearing and her sense of smell, she tried to catch any unusual sounds or smells. Unfortunately, those proved as fruitless as her eyes.

And that's when the doorway shut closed.

Whipping around, both women stared at the sealed exit. "It's a trap," Batgirl whispered harshly before she began looking about the room again, either for where the trap was coming or for another way out.

Black Canary, on the other hand, wasn't bothering. There were only so many things that could be used to kill the both of them in this situation: a bomb, deadly gas, knives flying from the walls—Hell, why not a giant buzzsaw? Regardless, there was only one way out and she was going to get her and her partner out of this.

Facing the closed door, she then ordered, "Cover your ears." Batgirl made to ask why, the question rolling off her tongue as she began to speak, but the blonde woman interrupted her, "Just do it, or your head's going to explode." Not bothering to wait to see if her order was carried out, Black Canary sucked in as much air as she could, holding it as her body began to protest from the strain. She needed to get the pitch perfect, otherwise this wasn't going to work.

Then she opened her mouth and let out her Canary Cry. A high-pitched scream filled the room, the wall in front of her beginning to tremble from being assaulted with the blast she sent at it. Cracks formed on the wall's surface, small at first but growing bigger and bigger with every passing second. Black Canary kept up her assault, even as she began to feel the pressure in her lungs as she forced the air out. She didn't have much time and there was no telling what would happen if she didn't break this damn wall.

Inch by bloody inch, the cracks grew, joining together to form a spider's web of larger cracks. Finally, the blonde woman stopped, out of air and gasping for more to fill her lungs. One more time, that's all she needed. One more.

Steadying her breathing, she sucked in air once more before unleashing the Canary Cry again, another blast that starting making everything shake around the two women; the walls, the floor, even the ceiling began to shake.

And then the door gave out. With a loud crash, the bricks and tacky wallpaper shattered into pieces, crumbling into a pile of rubble. "Go!" Black Canary cried out as she grabbed Batgirl by her upper arm and forced her out in front. The two ran for the exit, dashing up the staircase, and diving through opening at the top as another rumble went off behind them.

The moment Black Canary landed on top of Batgirl on the ground, an explosion rang out from behind them. Fire blasted out from the entrance, bathing them in an intense heat before it died down.

"Ow," Batgirl moaned beneath her before she began to shift about, Black Canary moving off of her as she rolled onto her back on the dirty ground. "Next time, we send Nightwing to check out the potential death trap," the redhead spoke.

The blonde nodded her head as she eagerly breathed in fresh air. "Hope the others are having better luck than us."

* * *

Nightwing's place was a dump.

Okay, maybe that was rude, but seriously, could the guy not clean up after himself? If it weren't for all the papers and folders and that odd computer in the room, the place looked as if it would be buried beneath potato chip bags and fast food wrappers. There was even a pizza box off in the corner and if Huntress' sensitive nose was telling her anything, she didn't want to know how long it had been there and with was left of the pizza.

Choosing to stand guard next to the closed door, the purple-clad woman had her head turned to a side, one eye on the door, the other on Nightwing rummaging around the room, shoving the Court of Owls evidence into a couple of duffle bags he had scrounged up from somewhere. One was already zipped up, the other being stuffed with papers. Pausing for a moment, the young man looked at the bag before he zipped it up.

"I just need to get a bag for the computer and then we're out of here," he called to Huntress over his shoulder, even as he turned to head into his bedroom. He didn't even bother to wait for her to reply as he disappeared through a doorway.

"About time," the dark-haired woman muttered to herself. Okay, she wasn't one to harp on someone's living habits, but this place stunk to her and she rather have waited outside instead of inside. Because this was the guy's home though, it wouldn't do to have a known vigilante hanging around, practically shouting that he was either up to no good or...actually that was the only bad option in this case.

Deciding she had enough of this place, Huntress called out, "I'm going to make sure the coast is clear. I'll be back." Heading to a set of sliding glass windows, the vigilante shoved the plastic blinds to aside and walked right through the open door and onto the balcony. They were on a second story floor, the neighborhood a relatively quiet one. This wasn't the Ritz or anything, but it wasn't ghetto either.

Jumping up, Huntress pressed one of her feet on the metal railing of the balcony and used it to spring herself up, twisting her body around so she could grab onto the edge of the roof. Pulling herself up, she was soon on the sloped roof, one hand pressed down on the shingles as she steadied her balance. Once she was sure she had it, she stood up at full height and began looking about the area.

Just in time to have a pair of feet slam right into her face.

Head snapping back, Huntress felt herself flying backwards, falling towards the ground far below. Colors flashing before her eyes, the purple-clad woman forced her legs to swing upward, leaning backwards as far as she could, going into a flip mid air. Spotting Nightwing's balcony, she stretched her arms out as far as she could, her hands smacking down on the railing.

Grabbing it, her body then swung downwards until her stomach crashed into the side of the balcony, forcing the air out of her lungs. Unfortunately, the dark-haired woman's grip wasn't as good as she hoped as she felt her fingers slip, causing her to drop the rest of the way down into a half-dead bush. Feeling pointed twigs sticking into her legs as her back was pressed into naked dirt, Huntress let out a gasp as she sucked in as much air as she could.

Cracking an eye open, her other eye shot open as she saw someone leap off the building's roof and fall towards her, something gleaming coming down with them. Forcing herself to move, Huntress rolled to a side just as a sword pierced the ground where she had been laying. Pulling her legs towards her and out of the bush, Huntress forced herself back onto her feet just in time to see another foot lashing out towards her. She was barely able to get both of her arms up in time to catch the kick, practically wrapping her arms around her attacker's ankle and lower calf.

It only took Huntress a moment to gaze at her assailant and in that second she recognized them as a Talon. Yet, the leg she held onto was thinner than the first one she had fought, if not curvier. In fact, she could say the same about the Talon's body as well. Was this a woman? There were girl Talons too?

Then, as if this girl Talon couldn't get more surprising, she pressed both hands against the bottom of her sword, using it to lift herself up into the air. Twisting her body, she lashed out with her other leg, aiming a kick at Huntress' head. Letting go of her opponent's foot, Huntress jumped backwards, avoiding the blow.

However, she wasn't going to be content on just retreating. A hand going to her belt, Huntress pulled out a couple of H-shaped shuriken and sent them flying, aiming for the Talon's head. In response, the girl used her own momentum in midair, twisting her body so that she landed with both feet on the ground while simultaneously pulling her sword out of the dirt. Continuing her spin, she swung her blade from side to side, cutting both shuriken in half as the pieces flipped about harmlessly through the air until they landed.

 _Oh great, this chick can fight like Katana._ That probably meant the crossbow was useless too, what with her arrows only serving to be cut to pieces before they made any difference. However, that also meant this Talon fought differently from the one she fought before, at least that's what she hoped. That guy had been like a skilled bull in a china shop, all the strength while agile to break only what he wanted to. This one seemed to need to use acrobatics, so perhaps she didn't have as much power as she needed to land a decisive blow. Again, going on hope here.

Reaching behind her back, Huntress grabbed her compressed bo staff and brought it out, flicking the switch to extend its ends. "Okay, you want a fight? Let's fight," she challenged.

In answer, the Talon held her sword up and charged, swinging the blade high and then down as she aimed for a head strike. In response, Huntress shot her arms up, blocking the cut with the middle of her staff. Then, as quick as she could, the dark-haired woman rotated the staff from holding it horizontal to vertical, the sword ricocheting off. With as much force as she could, the purple-clad vigilante brought the high end of the bo staff down, aiming for her own head strike.

In turn, the Talon backed off, dodging the blow as she began to maneuver her blade to attack again. However, Huntress broke off her swing midway, seeing its end pointed right at her foe. Lunging forward, she rammed the staff's end right into the Talon's stomach, landing her first solid blow that caused the Talon to stumble back, a gasp coming from beneath her mask.

Oh yeah, Huntress was liking this fight a lot better than the first one. She was actually on even footing here; she could deal with this.

Yet, she wasn't going to rush this. Returning her staff to a defensive stance, she eyed her opponent, waiting for her next move. Almost unconsciously, she began to step to her left, circling the Talon, who only turned her head to watch her. Perhaps she was expecting an attack to come and only wanted to counter? Huntress smirked. Uh uh, she already learned her lesson on attacking skilled foes recklessly.

Then, as if the Talon had read her mind, she did the most reckless thing Huntress could have thought of it: she threw her sword at her. Instinctively, the purple-clad woman ducked to a side to avoid the flying point, feeling a breeze as it flew by her head.

In the blink of an eye, her opponent was in front of her, going low. A fist slammed right into Huntress' midsection, forcing her to stumble backwards from the blow, once more losing the air out of her lungs. Then again and again, the Talon drove punch after punch into Huntress' abdomen, causing her to drop her staff as she was forced backwards.

 _Must...stop!_ Gritting her teeth, Huntress shot both of her arms up over her head, bending them at the elbow before she drove them down right on top of the Talon's shoulders, stunning her for a brief moment. Taking advantage of this, the purple-clad woman grabbed her opponent by either side of her head and held her still. Leaning backwards, Huntress then swung her head forward, landing a headbutt against the Talon's. Stars exploded in her vision as pain radiated across her forehead, but the dark-haired woman didn't give up as she reared back and did another, landing another headbutt.

While the first headbutt may have been excessive and probably stupid, it at least served a purpose. The second was completely stupid and didn't do much other than give Huntress an even worse headache. Pushing the Talon away, the purple-clad woman took a wobbly step back and found her back pressing up against a wooden fence

That didn't mean she was blind to her opponent who unfortunately seemed to have an unnaturally fast recovery time. It was as if she hadn't been given two consecutive blows to the head, the girl seemingly crouching down as she centered herself. Then, she held a hand out, fingers curled back as the palm became prominent.

Already Huntress could see what was coming; she had seen enough movies to know the move just by that, nevermind she had been instructed in it a...well, a very long time ago. Her mind was already feeding her images of that hand colliding with her nose and shoving the broken cartilage up into her brain.

Then the Talon lunged at her.

Suddenly, movement from the corner of Huntress' eye caught her attention. A police baton came flying through the air, causing the charging Talon to abruptly stop, pulling back as the baton collided with the ground.

Then Nightwing launched himself from his balcony, body as straight as an arrow with both arms extend out at shoulder height. Then, almost absurdly, he flipped head over heals, tucking his arms in to hug himself as he began to spin. He ended his spin the moment his feet were beneath him, gravity dropping him to the earth where he landed between Huntress and the Talon, crouched low.

 _You've got to be kidding me!_ Huntress practically raged in her head. Was she the only non-acrobat here?!

Then Nightwing launched himself at the Talon, swinging a backhand at the girl's head, who immediately blocked it. In return, she threw a punch at him, only for the young man to bring his other hand under his extended one and catch the fist with an open palm. Using his strength, he pushed against her, powering his legs hard on the ground as he forced her back. The moment she drew away from him to get better footing, Nightwing leapt off the ground, aiming a kick at her head.

And again the Talon dodged, only this time leaning backwards as Nightwing's foot sailed over her face. Not stopping, she went into a flip, hands pressing against the ground as her legs swung above and she sprung back onto her feet.

Fascinated, Huntress watched as the two moved. Neither seemed to be able to land a blow, but their blocking and dodging was like mirror images of each other. They bobbed and weaved, flipped and danced the exact same way. They even struck at each other the same, as if they were using the same style. It was...unnerving. In fact, Huntress was coming to the conclusion this Nightwing guy knew how to fight.

That was when the Talon threw a punch, only Nightwing didn't blocked or dodge it; instead he jumped into the air, pressing a hand down on top of the fist and used it to vault himself over the girl's head. Flipping, he landed on his feet behind her before he spun around, swinging another backhand that actually landed on the side of his foe's head, knocking the Talon off her feet and sent her crashing to the ground.

 _Helloooo, Opportunity!_ Immediately, Huntress charged at the fallen Talon, planting a foot by girl's head as she drew back her other leg. Swinging it forward, she caught her foe just as she was raising her head off the ground, the toe of her purple boot slamming into the side of the Talon's face and snapping her head to a side. Immediately, she went limp as she dropped back onto the ground.

However, she wasn't done just yet. With her same leg, the purple-clad vigilante raised it up high, fully intent on dropping it right down on the back of the Talon's neck.

So of course that's when the self-righteous guy had to stop her.

Damn near tackling her, Nightwing knocked Huntress off her one good leg, causing her eyes to widen with surprise as she dropped to the ground in a heap. It took her a few moments to realize just what happened before her anger warped her face and she was back on her feet. "What the Hell are you doing?!" she hissed.

"I should be asking you the same damn thing," Nightwing shot back heatedly, yet his voice was a Hell of a lot calmer than hers. "What are you trying to do, paralyze her for life?"

"You do realize she was trying to kill the both of us less than a minute ago. In fact, I'm doing you a big favor here since she tracked us all the way to your home. She gets back to the Court of Owls and they'll know everything about you."

"You make it sound like they didn't already know," he challenged back, which made Huntress pause. "All I've heard about this Court is that they've been running Gotham since forever. If that's the case, then they probably knew who I was the moment I entered Gotham, much less put on the mask. They probably even know who you and your friends are too, but they haven't made a move yet since they didn't consider either of us dangerous until now."

That was an amazing point, if not a sickening one. Already Huntress could feel her stomach dropping. As long as the Court of Owls was around, there was no peace of mind, not being able to relax as they sent assassin after assassin to kill her or the innocent people that just happened to be around her.

Or even worse, her students.

"All the more reason to get rid of her," Huntress spoke as she moved to finish the job, only for Nightwing to firmly plant himself between them. "Get out of my way, asshole."

"If you want her, you're going to have to fight me," he replied evenly. "And to be honest, I'm pretty sure I can take you."

Oh, take her? Almost instinctively, she drew a fist back, only for Nightwing to dart towards her, a second police baton in his hand—no telling where he was hiding it—and had it rounded end pressed against her throat. That made her stop entirely.

"I get it, you're angry and scared," Nightwing began, "but if you follow through with this, you'll be just like them. And if that happens, you know everyone will be after you: cops, your teammates, me and the Batclan—even the Batman. You'll be looking over your shoulders for the rest of your life until you're caught."

Huntress nearly snarled, but held herself at bay. "Then what do you propose we do?" she countered.

"Take her into custody, see if she can't tell us something about the Court we can use against them. Maybe she can even tell us something about the documents we have."

It wasn't a bad idea, but Huntress wasn't completely convinced about the custody part. Knowing the GCPD, there were probably guys that were part of the Court of Owls, since there was just no way the entire department was free of corruption. Still, an interrogation wasn't a bad idea.

"We take her to the Birdcage. We can interrogate her there," Huntress said, pulling away from Nightwing.

The young man let her move back, though he didn't relax his stance much. "I guess that will have to do. Call your friends and tell them to meet us there."

* * *

This was not how Robin expected to spend his night, but not gonna lie, there was something about being in the presence of a person who could slice an arrow in half while said arrow was hurtling towards the heart of one of his friends.

That in itself brought a feeling of security. If he had to be stuck with any of the three women who had pulled their asses out of last night's fire, it was the Asian chick with the wicked sword skillz. Yes, skills with a z. He was a teenager well versed in internet speak, don't underestimate him.

The aching wound that had made a lovely home on his body begged to differ. Movement was limited now, which meant that heading towards the hideout that Black Canary had mentioned was slow going. Or it would have been if they hadn't had those sweet rides of theirs. It was official, the Batclan needed motorcycles.

With that said, Katana didn't seem to be in too much of a rush, though she was doing her best hawk impression. Every shadow they passed, she was peering into them, keeping watch for any threats. He spent more time holding on to her from behind, enjoying the purring of the engine as they made their way through the streets of Gotham.

Back to Katana being on full alert, with that Talon out there, it made a lot of sense. He was curious about how well she'd stack up against him; it's not like he had a good show when she showed up at the last minute.

Eventually, they reached what looked like an abandoned auto garage that looked like it was about to collapse in on itself at any second. Suddenly, the image of these ladies being well-equipped crimefighters was coming into question. He couldn't help himself; he gave her a questioning look that she ignored.

Guess he was going to trust her on this one, but if his already lowered expectations took another hit, he was not going to let them live it down. Judging by how Nightwing was with Huntress, it was going to be the ammunition he would be looking for. By that, he meant teasing and taunting. That's right, you don't get a bunch of guys' hopes up with neat toys and then say "psyche!" and expect to get off scot-free.

His opinion of their colleagues changed for the second time that night when Katana let him in the back and he saw that the inside of this place was much better than the outside. Suddenly, the whole dilapidated look took on a whole new meaning. It was pretty good camouflage in retrospect. Why hadn't Nightwing or Batgirl thought of something like this?

"How do you afford this stuff?" was the first words out of his mouth, though that came after him inspecting some of the gear that Black Canary had mentioned back at Wayne Enterprises.

"I know not and do not care," was Katana's clipped reply. Glancing at him, Robin got a good look at those swords and came to the conclusion that out of the three of them, this one had the least use for any of this stuff.

So...did that mean more for the Batclan?

 _Ooh! Ooh! That was a neat looking grappling gun over there! Oh wow, this was better than anything he or the others had! They were going to be so jealous!_

"Hey—" he began only to stop short as his battle wound made itself known again. Probably shouldn't have turned so quickly. As if it hadn't caused him enough problems already. So far he had managed to keep his folks from finding out, but he was sure it was only a matter of time. He could see that going down like a cholera epidemic.

"Be mindful of injury," Katana advised him. "Sit. No aggravate it."

That sounded like good advice, but man, he wanted to look at more of the goodies. He wasn't too hot about the arrows...kinda for obvious reasons that made him feel a little green, but there were some nice looking brass knuckles he saw. Kinda looked like they were collecting dust, now that he thought about it.

Finally, he took his seat, eyes still darting around and taking in the place. It was so clean in here, more than he had expected after seeing the outside. Shelves lined the walls, holding various goodies that he had yet to get a good look out. Where there weren't shelves, there were counters, a stool here and there—indicating a workplace perhaps? Then there was the couch and chairs that were set aside, maybe a spot reserved to shoot the breeze? Relax when not kicking ass on a nightly basis?

"You guys—er, girls—have a nice setup here," he remarked, correcting himself mid-sentence while taking in this place. If he hadn't known about it, he wouldn't have suspected anything like this was inside it.

He didn't get an answer, except for the sounds of the Asian woman rustling around. He could hear her shift through their supplies, even as he found himself studying a couch that was looking very comfortable right about now. Probably would be best to sit there; he didn't know if anyone had any particulars about the chairs.

Bro-code, you don't sit in a bro's chair without his permission. Did girls have the same rule? Best not to chance it.

Pulling away from the neat-looking crimefighting toys these Birds of Prey had amassed, Robin gave in to Katana's suggestion and plopped himself on the couch. That didn't stop him from taking in what this place had to offer—

He almost jumped in his seat when he found the couch space next to him suddenly fill with all sorts of trinkets from what looked like mace cans to a few throwing projectiles. Say, had someone fashioned a few of them into H's? Neat. What else was— _hold it, Drake. Shouldn't you be more concerned with out this lady managed to sneak up on you, loaded with all this stuff, and not alert you to it?_

"You're really quiet," he pointed out. "Think you can give me some pointers?"

"Helps if not talking."

Okay. Ouch. Maybe he had that coming, but still. He admitted that of the two of them, he had been the more...chatty, but that wasn't all that hard to do since Katana barely spoke.

"Sorry, but…" he paused, scratching the back of his head. It was a second later he realized he probably looked bashful right about now and he forced himself to stop. If he was trying to not look like a kid, then he was failing, badly. _Change the subject, Drake._ "So what all did you take out?" he finally asked, directing his attention to the items beside him.

"Mace." Okay, he had figured that out already. "Grappling claws and gun." Okay, they could definitely use a few of those. "Gas pellets." Gas pellets? Why would they need those? Oh, wait, now he got it! To do one of those ninja disappearing tricks. "Throwing stars." Oh, he bet he knew which those were. Man, they looked so much better than his, but he bet none of them blew up. "Taser."

Wait. A taser? Well, it looked more like one of those taser guns, but still, a taser? Yeah, they could take a guy down in less than a second, but why would they need any of those? That took away all the fun of beating someone up. Still, he wouldn't argue since this lady had a sword and would probably slice and dice him for, he didn't know, what was it that Japanese people didn't like? Insolence? Yeah, that sounded about right.

"Where'd you get all of this?" he asked again, picking through the toys and gadgets.

No answer.

"Okay… So, what made you take up the sword and...uh...fight crime?" he tried again, thinking that maybe a change of subject was needed.

"Same could be asked of you."

He looked up at Katana, noting that she had taken one of the chairs, her eyes trained on him.

"I...don't think that's really important," he told her, not wanting to get into it. It was personal, okay? It's not like he gave his life story to someone he just met.

"You young. Too young." Now that was hitting below the belt there. Yeah, he was the youngest of the Batclan, but he could still kick butt when he wanted to. "Why risk your life when you have so much to lose?"

"What makes you think I have anything to lose?" the bird-themed vigilante shot back. "What about you? Have you killed anybody with those swords?"

"No position to ask such questions. You are child placing himself at risk, and for what?" was the quick counter.

"What else? Make this city a better place." _Wasn't that the reason you came here? Make this city better? Punish bad guys? Really, what was_ your _story, hmm?_

"Do you not know other ways?"

"What other ways are there that would count?"

"There are many. Do not limit yourself without knowing all possibilities."

He raised an eyebrow, though it wasn't really visible thanks to the domino mask he was wearing, you know, to hide his identity and all.

"I've looked into the other possibilities. In Gotham, there aren't a lot," he said, returning his sight to the equipment beside him. "That's something even a little kid knows."


	18. Best Choice Of Bad Decisions

According to Harvey Dent, today was not a good day. As the time was reaching noon, the District Attorney was leaving the courthouse with a frown that you didn't need a high-powered camera lens to see.

What happened back in there— _no, stop thinking about it, Harvey. You're just going to make yourself angrier than you already are. Look, see, you're already fingering that damn quarter.  
_

He needed to put some distance between himself and the building, if only for a little while. Go back to the office, or a fast food joint, and regroup. Honestly, though, what had that judge been thinking in there?

A sharp whistle caught his attention and he managed to catch sight of Gordon leaning against the side of his car, like he was waiting for someone. Oh wait, it was him. Gordon had to be waiting for him. If he remembered correctly, the Commissioner had been a witness to the travesty back there. Maybe he could vent with him about it.

"Can you believe that?" Harvey demanded as he closed in on his comrade in justice. "How the hell did they manage to get that maniac ruled incompetent?"

"The judge is one of those who put a lot of weight on a psychiatrist's testimony," Gordon replied.

"You do know we're about to see a shitstorm because of this," Harvey stated. "Jervis Tetch belongs in Blackgate, not Arkham. Now because of some bleeding heart Judge, he's never gonna answer for the things he's done."

"Blackgate is not a suitable place for an individual who has the degree of mental impairment that Mr. Tetch has," the Commissioner quoted. "A crock of shit," he added with disgust.

Looks like he wasn't the only one angered here.

"Zorbatos couldn't make this easier for us, could she?" he grumbled.

"She's on the conservative side when it comes to law and order, meaning punishment, no rehabilitation. It was always going to be a tough sale with her." Gordon seemed to be looking straight through him, as if seeing something else.

"Tell me, Jim, is it true that you fired her from the force?" Ever since that tidbit had been brought up to Harvey, it had been eating away at him. Damn it, even now Thorne was intruding on him.

"Where did…" Gordon stopped himself, all his attention on him.

"Answer me. Is it true?" He wasn't going to put up with any stalling here. After that ruling that was going to send a man who had kidnapped a senator's daughter on a vacation to a mental asylum, he was not in the mood for any games here.

"I did. You have to understand, she was a violent person out there. A lot of accusation of police brutality. Had she not been filmed, the union would have still had her on the force."

"Jim, you don't have to explain it." He held up a hand, the same one that had the quarter he had been messing with wedged between two fingers. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I forgot about it. It wasn't until I looked up who the warden of Blackgate was that I remembered. By then, we were on our way to putting our plans into motion."

And why hadn't Gordon known about Zorbatos' placement as the warden? You'd think the Commissioner would have known more about the prison he was sending half of Gotham's criminals to. He wasn't used to this kind of incompetence, especially from this man of all people.

"Well, someone else did know about it and told me." Now that just came mostly out of frustration caused by the situation. He hadn't meant to say that, but it was too late now.

Gordon frowned. "Who?"

"Thorne," the District Attorney answered frankly. Someone needed to be informed around here. "He paid me a visit the other day. He knows what we were trying to do with Zorbatos and Blackgate."

"Thorne? How?" The Commissioner had the same kind of look on his face that Harvey had on on the day of that "visit," at least that's what he believed.

"I don't know. No doubt he's been keeping an eye on us. I wouldn't be surprised if he has someone on his payroll, someone who overheard us, or was spying."

"Or he had us bugged," Gordon suggested, not sounding the least bit happy about that possibility. "With his kind of resources, it's not far out there."

That was a good point. Even now Harvey was still scratching his head over how Thorne had figured them out. It was like an itch under his skin that no matter how much he scratched, he could never reach or relieve it. It was annoying and infuriating to say the least. It also didn't help that Thorne was the last person either of them wanted to know about what they were up to.

"That's not all," he continued. "He also had an offer."

"What kind of offer?" Gordon asked warily.

"He wants to help us clean up the streets of Gotham, acting as an informant for us, and meanwhile swipe up anything that's left when the raids and arrests are made."

"Tell me you're not seriously considering accepting that." The Commissioner was stone-faced, definitely not a happy look there. "You have been," the man accused when there was no immediately agreement. "Harvey, you cannot get involved with that man."

"Don't you think I know that?" Harvey interrupted what looked to be the beginning of a tirade. "I feel dirty just saying that bastard's name, but he did have a good point. He knew that Zorbatos was not going to get on board. And if we did agree—"

"He'd be using the opportunity to get dirt on the both of us. This is just some ploy to get us in his back pocket." Now it was Gordon's turn to interrupt. "He won't be content to do as he says, feed us information without some kind of compensation. He wants control of the underworld like all the others. He's trying something different this time, but the goal remains the same."

"You think I haven't figured that out?" Harvey asked dryly. "What other choices do we have, Jim? With Blackgate a bust, what the hell are we supposed to do?"

"Turn Thorne down. Do what we've been doing for the past year. It won't be the easiest thing to do and it won't get us half the criminals out there we could if we accepted. Don't forget, we do have a trump card of our own. One who we know wants a better future for this city."

Yes, how could he forget. The Batman. No technically about it, they were committing a few crimes of their own just by being involved with the vigilante, but unlike other elements in this city, Dent knew he could trust this one.

However, there still left one thing.

"Thorne's not going to like it if we turn him down."

"He can cry himself to sleep with all that blood money he has," Gordon scoffed.

"We need to be ready in case he's one of those men who doesn't accept no as an answer," Harvey replied. "It doesn't take too much imagination to blackmail us by taking our loved ones hostage, and I don't think Thorne's above doing that."

"Then why approach us with such a tempting deal? He's up to something; we're just a couple of stepping stones along the way," Gordon replied. "You do bring up a good point, though. You want me to send a car or two down your street anyway?"

"No. I'm not going to give that bastard the satisfaction of thinking he has me afraid of him. If he wants to get me, he can do it in person. It's not hard to find out where I live. He can ring the doorbell himself; I'll be waiting with a double-barrel shotgun."

* * *

A phone rings.

" _Talk to me_."

"I don't think they're going to take your deal, Mr. Thorne."

" _Oh? What makes you say that?_ "

"I was able to get close without Dent or Gordon spotting me. None of them looked happy when the lawyer brought you up."

" _That's to be expected, but it doesn't explain why you think they're going to refuse me._ "

"Gordon was the one who said they shouldn't do it. Dent didn't put up too much of a fight. Kinda like he was trying to find some reason not to say yes." A pause. "Mr. Thorne? Are you still there?"

" _This is to be expected. Boy scouts like them always lack vision. I would have been more surprised had they agreed right off the bat._ "

"So, uh, what do you want me to do now?"

" _Stay on them. Stay on Dent. A goody two-shoes he might be, but I have a feeling about him. There's more cracks in his veneer than he thinks. His position is more unstable than Gordon's. There's no better way to keep them off their game than to keep them guessing._ "

"Should I do anything else? I mean, Dent does have that pretty wife of his."

" _Do not touch her. They'll be expecting that. No, I have a better idea. For now, keep tailing Dent. Tell me, do you have a camera on you?_ "

"No, Mr. Thorne."

" _Then get your hands on one. Something cheap for now. I'll get you a better one later. What I want are his more personal details, anything that makes him even look vulnerable for a_ _second_." Another pause, but shorter. _"Funny._ "

"What is, Mr. Thorne?"

" _It's like my father used to say. The brighter the picture, the darker the negative._ "

"What's a negative?"

" _Shut up and do your job. I'm not paying you to think. Keep me in the loop and don't do anything without my permission. Do you understand me?_ "

"Yes, sir."

A phone hangs up.

* * *

It had taken a lot of work collecting old newspaper clippings, cutting out articles and photos, and pinning them to the wall with push pins. Yet, Vicki was pleased with her work and took a moment to step back and appreciate the intricate web she had weaved.

Before her were the previously mentioned pictures and articles pinned to her apartment wall. Red string was taped to various photos and extended out to others, connecting them to each other to make sense to the reporter.

And at the center of it all were two photos side by side: one of Batman and the other Bruce Wayne.

Ever since her confrontation with the billionaire at his mansion, Vicki had been doing a lot of thinking, a lot of investigating, and a lot of soul searching. Now that she had some space to actually think and not go off half-cocked, she was beginning to see cracks in the image that was Bruce Wayne. Gone was the polished playboy that she and the entire world believed him to be. During their fight, she realized, his voice lacked that light chipper and warmth he was known for, instead replaced with a dark growl. The way he held himself wasn't of some lazy elite who had just woken up, but that of a man recovering from a fight. Those bloodstains appearing in his shirt at his office was not from some sport accident, of that she was certain.

Vicki snorted at the thought. Polo? Really? Who did he think she was, one of those brainless starlets he carried around on his arm?

From the centerpiece of her creation, red strings spread out, connecting them to her evidence. Perhaps the biggest piece she had was the three year absence of both the vigilante and the billionaire. Though it was believed Bruce Wayne had left Gotham to grieve over the loss of his butler—something that was quite believable at the time—and Batman had perished in the Great Gotham Fire, what if both had been a cover for the same man to just simply disappear? Then there was both of their reappearances three years later; that was just too much of a coincidence for the redhead to accept at face value.

Of course, there was certainly more. Following another string, there were a couple of pictures that were worthy of notice. Both were of Bruce Wayne with a dark-haired woman on his arm, some magician lady with a weird name. Though most figured the two had been together for Wayne's absence, working through his grief...so to speak...there was just one problem with that. That same woman was reported to have been the one to find Batman's remains after the Gotham Fire and then she disappeared only to reappear three years later helping the vigilante. How no one had made that connection was beyond Vicki, but right now it was the glue holding her theory together.

The reporter paused as she eyed the magician lady's dress in the photos of her, not to mention that slutty costume with the fishnets. Seriously, she was so out of fashion, even at the time she wore those gowns.

Shaking her head, Vicki moved on to the rest of her wall. There were other bits of research about, such as a quick mention of the Wayne Murders from Bruce's childhood and his much longer absence from Gotham following his obtaining of a GED over a high school diploma—a shocking find to be sure. After that, however, is where things became tenuous.

For instance, there were some photos of the two main vigilante groups: the all-women Huntress team and the one with Batgirl and friends. Vicki had drawn question marks on these photos and corresponding articles because she wasn't all that certain there was much of a connection between these vigilantes and Batman. Still, it was pretty obvious they only existed because Batman was on the scene, inspired by his presence. Further research was needed to positively identify more solid connections here.

However, this ended her visual diagram. Out of...secrecy, so to speak, Vicki pulled a curtain over it, to hide it from sight. The last thing she needed was someone spying out all of her hard work and either stealing it for themselves, or destroying it.

That done, the redhead headed to her kitchen where an empty glass and a half-empty bottle of wine stood. Pouring herself a glass, her second of the afternoon, Vicki picked up the glass and took a sip. She was a fan of the red and this bottle was no different.

She was especially going to need the drink when she began her next task: calling up all of Bruce's flings. That thought was nauseating to just think about considering the large number of floozies he had taken to dinner and galas. Still, it needed to be done to confirm that Bruce wasn't a man that spent all of his nights in debauchery.

This was the initial phase of her investigation, which made it very necessary. Once Vicki had her facts, she would drop this bombshell of a story and nothing else she would do for the rest of her life would come close to this story. Sure, Wayne would fight it, but the scrutiny he would find himself under would ultimately vindicate her.

And to think none of this would be happening if he had only taken her to the Robinson Ball.

* * *

The Birdcage had been seen some changes. All furniture had been shoved to one side of the room, leaving most of the floor empty save for a single, solitary chair. In that chair was the female Talon, restrained by anything and everything that was on hand. Rope, chains, and a couple of padlocks made the assassin look more like a ball of yarn with the occasional chainlink than an actual living weapon.

Sitting on one of the couches was Batgirl and Robin. Both of them were staring at the Talon warily, not quite sure how to act. Black Canary, Katana, and Nightwing stood at various places in the room, each ready to strike should the need arise.

That left Huntress sitting in the middle of her own couch, leaning forward as she rested her elbows on her knees, the palm of her hands pressed against each other. It was the next night after she and Nightwing had captured this Talon, last night proving to be a waste when they figured their captive wouldn't be waking up. The blow to her head had been too hard it seemed.

Still, she had been guarded all day until all members of the vigilante teams returned. "Alright Talon, I'm not gonna beat around the bush," Huntress said, earning her the assassin's attention if the slight tilt of her head was any indication. "You're our prisoner; this is going to be your interrogation. You're going to tell us everything we want to know, capiche?"

The Talon didn't respond.

That was okay. She could act the silent, tough girl all she wanted. "Just so you know, if you even so much as attempt to remove a rope or chain, we're gonna be on you like white on rice. You'll probably end up concussed and still you will answer our questions. You look like someone who values their control, so having your brain foggy isn't in your best interest."

Again, not so much as a peep.

"First question: where is the Court of Owls?"

No response.

Huntress was content to waiting for several seconds, even though the lack of an answer was annoying. "You're loyal, aren't you? I can see it and that's nothing to be ashamed about. The problem is, I think you're being loyal to the wrong people."

There was a slight flinch, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it and the purple-clad woman most certainly was. "See, this Court, if they really valued you, they would have sent a squadron of Talons here to rescue you. Yet, here you are, chained up and not a single friend of yours within spitting distance. You know what that tells me? They see you as expendable. They've cut their losses and are prepping your replacement as we speak. That's not a lot of loyalty and you deserve that much for what you're showing them."

The Talon bowed her head down, as if she were ashamed or thinking. Huntress preferred the former since that meant she had broken this little girl's spirit. It'd only be a matter of seconds before she spilled her guts.

Then the Talon looked back up at her and again was silent.

Annoying.

"Fine, you don't want to tell me where your clubhouse is? How about telling me how many Talons there are of you? Surely you want to boast about that."

No answer.

Okay, that was two questions in and a somewhat heartfelt guilt trip and still this girl wouldn't open up. Already Huntress felt her patience waning. Perhaps instead of talking with this assassin, she should hang her off the side of a building and drop her. That seemed to work for Batman, why not her?

However, it seemed Black Canary could sense her irritation and intervened. "Do you want out of here?" she asked quietly.

This made the Talon turn her head and regard the blonde. Huntress resisted the urge to grunt when there was still no audible answer. "Or would you prefer killing all of us?" Black Canary continued.

How shocking, no answer still.

"You know, we are going to keep asking you things, whether you want to hear them or not. You need to talk to us if we're going to get anywhere."

"Maybe she can't talk," Nightwing muttered under his breath, adjusting his stance as he crossed his arms over his chest.

That was when the Talon turned her head to the young man and gave a sharp nod of her head. Huntress almost fell forward and hit face first on the floor from that simple gesture.

Then her anger practically exploded in her. There was no freaking way this girl couldn't talk; she was just pouncing on some random comment to make them think that was true. What a bitch. "Oh, so you say you can't talk?" she sneered. "What, are you a mute? Did a mean old owl snap your tongue right out of your mouth? Pfft, give me a break."

If the Talon was offended, there was no way to know other than her returning her sight to the dark-haired woman. It honestly seemed like she didn't care and was just biding her time. This only served to frustrate Huntress further. Part of her wanted to just stand up and snatch the Talon's mask right off her head and have her prove just how tongueless she was. In fact, that was an urge that was growing with every second.

Of course, that's when one of the rookies spoke up. "Maybe we're handling this wrong," Batgirl said, earning her a glower from the dark-haired woman. Standing up from her couch, the redhead took a couple steps to the Talon and asked, "Do you know how to write? Just nod your head if you can."

Amazingly, there was a response. The Talon nodded.

"Okay, is there a pen or pencil around her?" Batgirl asked out loud. "Something to write on too?"

"Uhh, no, to both of those," Huntress responded. "You know why? Because we'd have to be morons to untie one of her hands. This is a trained assassin, Red, and if we put a pen in her hand, she could use it to stab one of us. Don't think because she's tied down that means she's not dangerous anymore."

Batgirl glared at her even as Nightwing added, "She's right, Batgirl. We can't afford to untie her for anything. She already knows where I live and it won't take long for her to find out who I am and everyone I associate with. She has to stay here until we can take her to the proper authorities."

"You sure you want to do that?" the purple-clad woman questioned, raising an eyebrow up. "What makes you think she won't tell the cops your little secret?"

That gave the young man pause, which opened the door for Batgirl to say, "So what are we supposed to do? This Talon of yours can't answer our questions and we can't afford to turn her in. Are we going to keep her here indefinitely?"

"No, of course not," Black Canary was quick to answer.

"Then what's the plan? We can't keep her here, or let her go. She'd try to kill us the moment she's free."

"No one said this was going to be an easy situation," Huntress replied. "But for now our best bet is to keep her here until we come up with something."

"Like what? Kill her?" Batgirl demanded.

Huntress paused. While she hadn't considered the thought—seriously, she hadn't in case there was any doubt—it would fix their problems. No one to rat them out, one less person out to kill them, it was about as final a fix as they could get.

Yet, there was that little imp in the back of her head that rebelled against such thinking. And since she was already on probation—so to speak—there was no way Huntress could admit to that option existing. Already she could feel Black Canary and Katana's eyes on her, waiting for her response.

"Like I said, we'll think of something," the purple-clad vigilante spoke slowly.

"And what if we can't come up with anything?"

"Then you better hope we do, otherwise things are going to go very badly for you and your boys."

The tension in the room skyrocketed after Huntress said that. She could see just how on edge the so-called Batclan was, their eyes flickering to the assassin and then to each other as if they could figure something out. That just left Huntress with time to eye the Talon's mask again. Her fingers were getting pretty itchy.

"I think we're all out of options here," Robin eventually spoke slowly, as if he didn't want to believe what he was saying. "We're out of our depth on this."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," Black Canary responded, sending the boy a comforting smile. "No one said this would be easy."

"Well, I can think of one option we haven't tried," Huntress said then. "We take off our little friend's mask here and see just who they are. Perhaps that can give us a lead."

"That does show promise," Katana added in agreement.

"Are you sure about that?" Robin asked. "I mean, just imagine if we were in different places? What if it was one of us sitting in that chair and these Court people were talking about removing our masks? I know I'd be panicking. Perhaps as a courtesy we don't do that."

"There's just one problem with that," Huntress replied, holding back the sneer she felt leaking into her voice. "And that is anyone who has it out for us would unmask us anyways. That's literally the first thing they would do. If anything, I say we've shown some considerable restraint in not suggesting it up until now."

"Hate to say it, Robin, but she does have a point," Nightwing agreed. "And right now we don't have much of a choice anymore."

Just looking at the youngest person in the room, Huntress could tell he was going to continue the argument, which was stupid if you asked her. They had long since tossed away any sort of morality when they took a prisoner. So, in the interest of heading off further debate, the purple-clad woman stood up and stalked over to the Talon. Without a word, she grabbed the mask at the top of the woman's head and pulled it off.

Two things happened: one, the face of some drug addict appeared—you could tell from the gaunt features of her face and the sick color to her skin that she was hooked on something—and two, a small card fell out of the mask and landed on the floor. Bewildered, Huntress stared down at the card, soaking in the 10/6 numbers on the object's surface.

That's when the Talon woman spoke. "Wh-what's going on here? Where am I?" she shrieked.

"So much for not being able to talk," Nightwing muttered.

Picking up the 10/6 card, Huntress turned it around and back as she examined it. What the Hell was this thing? Tearing her eyes away, she looked at the panicking woman's face, her body wiggling and writhing as she tried to free herself without much success. "I didn't do anything, honest! I wasn't gonna buy that rock, I swear!"

"Quiet," Huntress snapped, causing the woman to squeak in fright, but thankfully she shut up. "Mind telling me why you're dress up the way you are and what," at this she shoved the 10/6 card in front of the woman's face, "the Hell this thing is?"

"I-I don't know, I swear!" the grimy woman pleaded. "I was just on my way home and the next thing I know I just see black. When I woke up, I was here."

Huntress raised an eyebrow beneath her mask. "So you're telling me you don't remember attacking us with a samurai sword?"

"A sama-what sword?" the little blonde woman gasped. "I don't mess with no swords! I wouldn't know where to find one, honest!"

That was when the purple-clad vigilante felt a presence next to her. Turning her head, she saw Batgirl studying the card in her hand intently. "I think I've seen this before," she spoke.

"You have?" the dark-haired woman questioned. "When? Where?"

Looking up, the redhead replied, "This is one of those mind control cards from that Simmons girl kidnapping. The police found a whole bunch of them at the Dutchess."

"Wasn't that the one where that shrimp guy used mind control to make his own fantasy world?" Huntress asked.

"Yeah, that's the one. So if this is the same card, it's possible this woman's telling the truth, she doesn't know anything. Someone put this card against her head and she began following orders."

"Hold up, something isn't making sense," Black Canary interrupted. "According to H and Nightwing, this girl was a trained fighter. Yet the first thing out of her mouth was her denying buying drugs. She has to have some kind of training just to fight off these two."

"I could be wrong, but it is possible that the card was able to program those fighting moves," Batgirl suggested.

"So what you're saying is someone could make some joe-shmoe into a living weapon?" Huntress pressed.

"It's not outside the realm of possibility. And how else do you explain what's going on here?"

A silence fell over the room. "I don't like this," Black Canary eventually said.

"Me neither," Huntress agreed. "Me neither."


	19. The Call

It had been a while since he had last set foot in Blackgate, but unlike the other times Gordon was not feeling very pleasant. The sting of the Tetch ruling could still be felt, and he couldn't deny that a part of him was directing much of the blame at the warden of this prison.

Couldn't the warden get past her own grudges and see that the city was on the edge of making a change for the better? Just a few changes, that was all he had asked for; changes that would ensure that Arkham wouldn't become the city's second prison where criminals hide out between stints. What precedent was being set now?

With their luck going the way it was, what were the odds that the McKillen sisters would try to plea incompetent to stand trial? Or insanity? Oddly enough, that was who he was going to be visiting.

Since Thorne had made his move already, Gordon figured that if there was any advantage they could get over him, the McKillens may know something. Something that was going on that they could nail that bastard on. Like Zorbatos, he wasn't going to be surprised if either Shannon or Erin would be resistant to him.

And like Zorbatos, the thought of getting some payback might be the motivation they needed.

Throwing out his suspicions and circumstantial evidence that Thorne had something to do with their incarceration might be what prompted the Irish twins to give him something. He could have sent Sarah, Montoya, or even Bullock out to do this, but he felt this needed a personal touch.

Of course, to be able to go through with this, he was going to have to go through Zorbatos, who was waiting for him at the entrance, a "welcoming committee" of sorts. Yes, in order to get this meeting with the McKillens set up, he had to talk with her. Surprisingly, he didn't get too much resistance from the warden, which made him suspicious already.

Seeing that one-eyed bitch, arms crossed over her chest, and a smug smile only cemented it.

"Heard you had a bad day in court, Commissioner," Zorbatos called out to him.

Gordon knew what this was all about. She wanted to rub it in his face. He couldn't stop her from trying, but what he could do was ignore it. Not give her any satisfaction of knowing about his frustration. He was sure that the knowledge of it would please her more than anything.

"Warden," he greeted back.

"Not using my name, now? Not surprising. I guess we're not friends anymore." So very dry, her tone of voice.

"You know what I'm here for," he said, attempting to cut this off early. "I also remember that you don't want to be anywhere near me. So, point me to where I need to go."

"Your manners have unsurprisingly disappeared as well, just like Jervis Tetch magically showing up in Arkham and not my facility," Zorbatos dug in, buffeting her fingernails against her shirt. "No skin off my back, it's probably for the best." Now she was examining those nails, inspecting them for any flaws. "He wouldn't have lasted a day."

"I never thought that you would care about the life of another person. Your time with the force only showed your disregard for it," he shot back, unable to hold himself back.

"Whoever said I did?" The single eye of hers was boring into him now. Had he been a lesser man, he would have shrunk back before it, but he was not in the mood to give her that kind of satisfaction.

"I think the problem is, no one. Now where are the twins?" _Come on, you wanted me gone as fast as possible before_.

"I think this is getting to you. Good. How does failure of your system feel now, Gordon? Feeling powerless now that it doesn't work in your favor?"

"When each piece of the system is at war with one another, of course it fails," the Commissioner retorted, almost giving in to shooting her a glare—almost. He needed to remain as impassive as possible. "We had a chance to do something, something that would have changed this city for the better. I hope you like empty cells, Warden. I wouldn't be surprised if many try to jump ship and get transferred to Arkham."

"As if I would allow that. Blackgate is mine and everyone here knows about it." If Zorbatos had any humor with this situation, it was gone now.

"But Blackgate does not offer the mental health services that the inmates are going to claim they'll need. Because you didn't want to help, there's going to be a new precedent. Just watch—the scumbags you hope to keep here will be moving soon and you will be the powerless one."

"Like you are now? You think you can get to me with that? None of them are going to pull it off. No, guests in Blackgate stay in Blackgate. I'm not so sure about Arkham, so I hope you have sweet dreams knowing that." Zorbatos' grin was almost shark-like and even sharper than some of the knives confiscated from perpetrators and crooks back at the station.

"Where are the McKillens?" Now he was demanding.

"Lyle here will escort you. You do remember Lyle, right?" Zorbatos turned her body slightly and gestured with a hand to the large man who had led him to her office the first time he had tried to bring her in on Dent and his grand plan.

"How could I forget?" he said, walking around the one-eyed woman.

"Knock when you're ready to leave and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out," she called after him as he let Lyle take the lead.

Gordon was almost having a case of deja vu here. It had been some time since he last had to deal with an overt display of uncooperativeness and disrespect from a colleague. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

"You're not the only one disappointed with that judge," Lyle suddenly spoke up.

"Excuse me?" Gordon needed to be sure that he had heard correctly.

"That freak Tetch deserves to be locked up like the animal he is," Lyle growled.

 _Well, I'll be…_

"That makes two of us."

* * *

Keeping an eye on Harvey Dent was almost too easy. The man made no effort to hide himself and nothing ever seemed to block out the sight of the man whether he was heading into City Hall, the courthouse, the GCPD, or to get some milk from the supermarket.

The hardest part was always getting in close, so that whatever was leaving the District Attorney's mouth could be heard and reported to the boss. Doing that without being spotted was trickier, but doable.

Getting up from the chair he had been sitting in, placed outside of a nearby cafe that was there to cater to the political elite and tourists, the man made his way to the building opposite the street. He did everything legit, using the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to give him permission, all that shit.

It didn't take a minute before he was entering City Hall, only one destination in mind. There was only one that mattered in this place and that was Dent's office. The District Attorney didn't make it a habit to visit every room and office this place had to offer. Well, there was the bathroom break. And meetings with the mayor. And a staff meeting that Dent himself had called for. But other than that, Dent stuck to his office.

It was a safe bet that was all he was saying.

Now, here's the thing: Dent had a habit of leaving the door to his office wide open. He had no idea why, but that's what he did. Personally, he didn't give a shit about it. All it did was make it easier to see if his target was there or not.

Of course, there was also his secretary person who had a habit of closing the door. So yeah, he didn't have a lot of time to make sure about this. See, the lady who also worked in Dent's office was always complaining about the door being open and that just anyone could walk in. Something about being safe or whatever. Didn't know why he felt the need to bring that bit up. Maybe as a reminder to himself to hurry up?

Could be, and hurry up he did, though he tried not to make it obvious. He was underdressed in this place; no suit and tie, or any shit like that. Stuck out a bit, you know? Good thing that he acted like he owned the place like half the people here did. Walk with confidence, no one messes with you. Move in the direction you wanted to go because you knew that's where you needed to go, no one asks you annoying questions like "where are you going?" or "do you have business here?"

Up the stairs, to the second floor, and going to the right, that's where he was heading. Down the hallway that was now on his left, and now he could slow down a bit. Less people up here, especially considering this time of day. It was getting late, the sun was almost gone, and people wanted to get home. If only the asshole giving Mr. Thorne a problem or two was more like that. Looks like Mr. Thorne wasn't the only one having problems with the bastard.

As he moved past the lawyer's office, he saw not only was the door wide open, but that he had a good look at the man hunched over his desk. He wasn't doing any talking, so there was nothing to be overheard. The man continued walking, coming to a stop at a nearby wooden bench and taking a seat on it.

This was where he'd take up watch duty, at least for the time being. Hopefully the workaholic wasn't going to stay the night here. They've been trying to keep security tight here since that Halloween 2.0 crap. After about a year, things weren't so by the book, but you could never be too careful. This was the big reason he kept a few hundreds on him; times might change, but money always talked.

You know, maybe he should start figuring out a way to wait around in Dent's office. That way he wouldn't have to strain his ears all the time trying to hear something important. The door was open after all. Just about anyone could get in right now.

It was almost...too easy.

* * *

Senator Simmons' drop off point was in a dirty, underused subway station. Dirt and grime covered everything, even the graffiti on the walls, making everything look tired and worn. Trash from overfilled trash receptacles littered the floor. It was definitely not the sort of place a senator went to.

Due to the dim lighting in the station, Batman was able to hide in the shadows, crouched low to the ground as he gazed about the room. A subway train had passed through mere minutes ago, not bothering to stop as it rushed by—after all, no one used this station much.

Despite the disuse, there was still a fully functioning clock, indicating the time was going on ten. Simmons' contact should be arriving anytime now.

Light began to emerge from the subway tunnel again, alerting the vigilante to another train passing through. Like the one previously, this one also few by the station, not bothering to stop. Pieces of trash were blown into the air from the wind caused by the rushing train, scattering them about the station.

One such piece fluttered over to Batman, stopping momentarily for him to see it was an old newspaper, its headline declaring **SENATOR MISSING**.

A smirk appeared on the dark-clad man's face. Because this meeting was far into the future, he had to make sure Simmons didn't alert the Court of Owls to his presence. A phone call to one of the other Court members insured that they wouldn't be blindsided by their comrade's disappearance. On the plus side, it gave Batman another person to investigate concerning the Court of Owls. Joseph Powers definitely fit the description of the Court.

However, that still left him with what to do with the senator. There was no way he could keep the man locked up in the cave or a safehouse in the city. There weren't any other allies he could trust, what with Zatanna on the other side of the country, not to mention his rather rocky relationship with the other vigilante groups, his desire for them all to be defunct notwithstanding.

So he had to make do the best he could. His smirk stayed on his face even as his thoughts lingered on the senator's fate.

* * *

Senator Simmons moaned as he slowly came to. His mind was foggy and it refused to clear. Eyelids fluttering as he tried to open them wide, he found that was so much more difficult than it should have been.

When he finally had his eyes opened, Simmons realized he wasn't in his bedroom or any other room he recognized. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all painted the same shade of white, searingly blinding from the hanging light. Bewildered, the senator tried to move and found he couldn't. Jerking his head down, he saw leather restraints were keeping him tied down to a hospital bed.

"What the Hell is going on here?!" he shouted as he began to tug harder at the restraints, unable to loosen them. "Somebody! Help me!"

No matter how hard he thrashed, no matter how loud he cried, nothing was going his way. This couldn't be happening to him—shouldn't be happening to him! He was a senator! A public official for the United States Government! No way in Hell should he be here!

That was when the door to the room opened, causing Simmons to stop his struggling and turn his head. Entering the room was a man dressed in a white lab coat, some kind of name tag attached to it. The man looked somber behind his glasses. "Now, now, Mr. Levins, you need to calm down," the man said.

 _Levins?_ Simmons erupted with fury. "Do you know who I am? I'm Senator Herschel Simmons and I demand to be released this instance!"

The man with the glasses stared at him before he bowed his head and shook it from side to side. "Mr. Levins, I'm Dr. Fitzgerald, and I'm sorry to inform you that you aren't Senator Simmons."

"What the bloody Hell are you talking about?" Simmons demanded.

"I know this is early in your treatment, but you mustn't delude yourself into believing you are this state's senator, despite your uncanny resemblance. Your name is Simon Levins and you are here to receive treatment for your grandiose ideations. We at Arkham Asylum pride ourselves—"

 _Grandiose Idea—_ "You have no idea who you're messing with!" Simmons roared with rage. "You are holding me against my will! I know people! When I get done with you, you won't be able to get a job as a janitor much less as a doctor!"

"Well, you were committed involuntarily, Sir."

That made the senator pause, his thrashing body going still. "In..involuntary…?" he stuttered out softly.

"Now then, Mr. Levins, if you would please calm down and relax, it would be most beneficial to you. Your outburst is scaring the other patients and if you continue on this course, we will have to sedate you again."

Just the word "sedate" riled Simmons. "You are _not_ going to sedate, you maniac! I demand you release me this instance! I want my lawyer, do you hear me?!"

The doctor sighed before he left the room, all the while the senator once more began to struggle against his restraints. His cries of anguish grew louder when two orderlies came in and held him still while the doctor plunged a needle into his arm. Slowly, Simmons could feel his mind slip away as the sedative took effect and he fell silent once more.

* * *

It had been surprisingly easy to get Senator Simmons committed. All the vigilante had to do was get the man dressed in rags, drag him to the asylum, and tell the doctors there that his "friend" was delusional and resisted any form of treatment. Of course, Batman hadn't done it in costume or as Bruce Wayne, taking on the guise of a worried family member.

And that was how you made a person disappear.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the dark-clad man's thoughts, forcing him to focus attention outside of his head. Calmly he waited until a man in a hoodie appeared, casually strolling towards the clock hanging from the wall. Not once did the man look around, oblivious to everything as he came to a stop beneath the clock face. A few seconds later he raised a hand up and looked at his watch, checking the time.

Batman slowly stood up. While the man's clothes fit in with this neighborhood, there was one thing he had overlooked: his shoes. They were of an expensive brand, one that most people in this area couldn't hope to afford. It was a big red flag for the vigilante and one he wasn't going to let pass up.

Silently, he approached his target, keeping his senses on high alert. The last thing he wanted was to be walking into a trap, one with Talons ready to strike. As he drew closer, he could pick up the man muttering under his breath, "C'mon you lousy excuse for a senator, get your fat ass here."

Standing behind him, Batman decided that now was a good time to inform Simmons' contact that the senator wouldn't be showing. "Your friend isn't going to make it."

The man stiffened before he whipped his head around. Instantly, Batman shot a hand out and grabbed his target by the front of his hoodie, twisting it so he could lift the man right off the floor. Letting out a cry of fright, the man grabbed at the Dark Knight's arm, trying in vain to remove it. Not the least bit perturbed, Batman turned them towards the wall next to them and slammed the man's back against it. "That's enough out of you," he growled lowly.

"It-it can't be," the man stuttered. "You're dead! You can't be here!"

"Whoever said I was dead?" Batman replied mockingly. "Was it Owlman? Or maybe one of his Talons? Regardless, it's obvious they failed and unfortunately for you that's an assumption you'll be paying for."

"Wh-what do you want?"

"Information." At this, Batman pulled out one of the Tetch cards, showing the 10/6 letters to the man's face. "Simmons had a briefcase full of these and he was supposed to bring them here to give to you. Where are you taking them?"

"I...I can't tell you that," the man stammered. "Because I don't know. Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. The Court is everywhere; they hear and see everything. Just being here with you means I'm good as dead."

"Not necessarily," the vigilante countered. "If I take the Court down, there's no way they kill you—provided you tell me what I need to know."

Simmons' contact snorted in response. "You can't defeat the Court of Owls. They've outlasted the British Empire, witch hunts, and much worse. You...you're just some maniac in a bat costume that's deluded himself into thinking he can change this city. You don't stand a chance."

Batman narrowed his eyes. This wasn't the first time he had met resistance during an interrogation and his old standbys were just a punch and kick away. Yet, people responded more to psychological danger than they did physical and he coincidentally was holding such a tool. "You can either tell me what I want to know, or…" at this he paused, letting the man imagine just what would be done to him, "I use Jervis Tetch's little invention here and have it make you tell me."

He felt the man flinch against his hand. "N-no, you wouldn't. You can't!"

"Why not?" Batman calmly challenged. "If you're not going to do this the easy way, then I can make it even easier. After all, you had your own ideas for these cards; it's only fair that I can use them too."

The man's eyes flickered between the 10/6 card and the white lens of Batman's mask. The Dark Knight could see his captive was mentally weighing his options. Deciding he needed some more prodding, the vigilante said, "Better decide quickly. I'm losing my patience."

That's all it took for his captive to break. "I'll talk! I'll...talk. Just don't put that card on me."

So, this guy was used to being in full control. That was probably the same with the rest of the Court of Owls, men and women used to being the puppetmasters. "I know you intend on using Tetch's technology to create programmed assassins. I want to know where you'll be doing this and with who."

"There's no one place we're doing it," the man answered, his arms dropping to his sides as he hung limply by Batman's grip. "It's going on all across the city. Degenerates and thugs are being taken to form our growing army. People that no one will go looking for."

Batman unconsciously tightened his grip in his growing anger. It made sense to kidnap people that no one cared for, but it didn't sicken him any less. They were still people even though they were being used for evil ends. Unfortunately, if this man's words were to be believed, then this operation was going on even as they spoke. "How long have you been doing this?" he demanded.

"The last week and a half," was the answer. "And like I said, no one's missed them. Sure there were a few worried phone calls to the GCPD, but no one at the department is bothering with an investigation."

A week and a half...that meant the Court already had completed the programming. Damn it, he was a step behind. Yet, for something as big as this, it seemed strange that a test hadn't been done. "When are you planning on testing them?" he growled lowly.

The corner of the man's mouth twitched up into a smirk. "We have been testing them. In fact, there's a plan to pit them against our trained Talons to see who is more superior...and the entire city will be their arena."

"You're going to have them fight each other?!" Batman roared in rage.

Somehow the dynamic of this interrogation had shifted to this Court member's favor, leaving the vigilante lashing out in anger. Even the man knew this was happening and couldn't help but gloat. "Oh, for such a great detective, you're missing the point. There's no reason to have half of our forces fight the other half. Instead we're having them compete with each other to see who are the most efficient assassins."

Batman stared at the man. He couldn't be serious. Were these Talons, both old and new, going to kill people to see who killed the most? It was insane! "When is this happening?!"

Clearly his captive felt he was in control as he continued to smirk. "What? Can't work it out, 'Batman'?"

Batman steeled his nerves. He needed to calm down and take control back from this evil man. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to unwind and relax the tension that had been growing in his body. When he felt he had regained his composure, he said, "You haven't told me anything I didn't already know."

The man rolled his eyes. "Sure I haven't. If that were the case, you wouldn't be here interrogating me."

"I knew you were kidnapping men and women off the streets," the vigilante replied quietly. "I've known you were stealing Tetch's tech and reprogramming it. What I didn't know was who and Simmons told me that. I've even had time to go into the programming of this card and made my own program. So tell me, Owl, how do you feel about becoming _my_ puppet?"

Throughout the speech, the Court member had looked on in disbelief. That all changed when Batman mentioned the programming of the Tetch card, his eyes staring at the one in the dark-clad man's hand. His smugness was draining out of him at just the thought of becoming a stooge. "You...you can't do that! You won't do it! You have rules! A code! You believe yourself above—"

"Don't pretend you know me," Batman snapped. "You may know about Gotham's history, but you don't know a damn thing about what I will or won't do. So, if you want to avoid losing your mind, tell me when you plan on unleashing your Talons."

And just like that, the man was broken once more. "Tonight—it happens tonight," he spat out.

In response, Batman felt his stomach drop. "Who is being targeted?" he managed to ask.

"Who do you think? City officials, politicians, judges, anyone that shapes Gotham and poses as a threat."

Which meant a hell of a lot of people. Already names were flashing before Batman's eyes. Gordon, Dent, and the mayor were just the first ones, followed by a couple judges known for being "judicial activists." What was worse though, was that there was no way for him to protect everyone, not against not one, but two different assassin forces.

He was going to need some help.

Returning his attention to the man before him, Batman let go of the 10/6 card, letting it flutter to the ground, much to the Court member's relief. This distracted him from Batman forming a fist with his hand and drawing it back, throwing it forward and slamming a punch to the man's fist. The man's head jerked backwards and collided with the wall, knocking him out cold.

Releasing his grip, he let the Court member drop into a heap on the ground as the Dark Knight turned and strode towards the subway exit. Reaching to his gauntlet with one of his hands, he hit a couple of buttons, dropping both arms to his sides as he reached a staircase and began his ascent.

Emerging onto the street level, Batman came to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk. A moment later, his car came roaring down the street, coming to a complete stop in front of him as the canopy automatically slid open. Leaping in, the canopy shut over his head.

However, Batman didn't hit the accelerator pedal. As much as it pained him, he was going to have to make this call. It didn't matter that he didn't have direct access to the people who could do the most to help out; this was something that concerned the entire city and they had a right to know what was about to happen.

Resignedly, the vigilante reached to the computer panel and tapped a few buttons. It would only take a few seconds, but right now the computer in the car was jamming a multitude of radio signals, opening the channels one way.

When a green light lit up on the panel, the vigilante knew his program had been completed. Taking in a deep breath, he readied himself for what he was about to say.

"People of Gotham, this is Batman. Gotham is under immanent attack, I repeat, Gotham is under attack. A city-wide assassination of the city's top officials is underway and there are too many targets for me to protect them all. I…"

He paused swallow deeply. "I'm going to need your help."

* * *

The scene in which Senator Simmons is committed to Arkham is based off the comics. When Bruce Wayne was accused of murder and he spent several months as Batman only, he came across a government agent that confirmed that someone at the highest levels wanted Bruce Wayne publicly destroyed. So he had the agent committed to Arkham for, in his words, "safe keeping." Having written myself into a corner with Simmons, I felt this was the best way to take care of that end. I feel like that was the right choice lol.


	20. The Night of the Talons

Never in a million years had Huntress expected to hear what had just been broadcasted through every radio speaker in the city. It was unnatural from the get-go and a part of her was convinced it was merely a prank by some loser playing on their computer in their mom's basement.

" _People of Gotham, this is Batman."_

The voice of the Bat had filled the Birdcage, causing the Birds of Prey and their guests, the Batclan, to freeze where they stood. The junkie that had passed for a Talon assassin was being kept in a backroom, knocked out mostly so her withdrawals didn't get the better of her. The two vigilante groups had been in deep discussion on what their next move would be when that distinctive growl began pouring out of every speaker in the building.

" _Gotham is under immanent attack, I repeat, Gotham is under attack,"_ Batman warned. " _A city-wide assassination of the city's top officials is underway and there are too many targets for me to protect them all. I…"_

There was a pause before the Dark Knight said in a pained voice, " _I'm going to need your help."_

"I'm dreaming," Huntress had immediately spoken the moment she registered those words. She had been silenced just as quickly by Black Canary and Katana as they focused on the surprise announcement, which left the purple-clad woman to grumble.

" _A group known as the Court of Owls plans on assassinating any and all members of the local government; anyone that helps shape the city is a target of their assassins, the Talons. These assassins should not be taken lightly._

" _Anyone that can, I beg of you, do what you can to stop these people. Gotham is at a turning point and if we are to keep it progressing to a brighter future, we can't, we mustn't, allow these Owls to dictate who and what we can make our city. I will do what I can to stem these attacks. Those that can help, do so. There is no other way."_

Four years ago, Huntress would've been ecstatic to hear such a plea. That was not how she felt now. For someone as idolized as the Batman to swallow his pride and beg for help meant that the force they were up against was more than he could handle. Considering everything he had managed to do to date, that was a scary thought.

Far be it for her to ignore his call.

* * *

"Get your asses in gear, ya bums!" Harvey Bullock demanded, throwing on his blue trenchcoat and forcing his hat on his head. "We got bad guys up to no good! I want cars in the streets and men at every damn official's house we can get. Move, move, move!"

The GCPD precinct was in upheaval. Even now, the Bat's voice was droning on in the background with his sudden and shocking announcement. Bullock had been surprised as anyone, but he sure as Hell wasn't going to ignore the freak's claim. After all, this wasn't the first time he had called for help.

This time had better not be a wild goose chase, though.

Jim wasn't in the office, unfortunately. He just had to go to Blackgate for a word with the McKillens, though the Lieutenant half-expected it to involve the prison warden's lack of help with putting that Mad Hatter shrimp behind bars. The Com'mish had been putting all of his eggs in the DA basket lately and it was coming back to burn him.

Again.

So that left Bullock in charge—surprising since the guy's wife was here. If there was anyone that was second-in-command, it was her. Yet, everyone had looked to him to give out orders.

Again.

" _I'm not entirely certain as to who is on the Court of Owls' list of targets, but there are many that should be considered,"_ the Bat-freak continued on.

That was another thing. This Court of Owls thing seemed utterly absurd to Bullock. That was just some cockamamie story to scare people. They didn't exist, just like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. The Lieutenant didn't believe for one moment that this attack was being used by such bogeymen, most likely just some gang thinking they could score points by using that name. Still, he wasn't going to ignore a tip like this.

" _The following are just a sample of who may be targeted: Mayor Marion Grange; City Comptroller Betty Park; Speaker of the City Council Michael Guadalupe."_

Oh great, so now the Bat-freak was telling them just who to go protect. That was just peachy—prick.

" _Kane County Judge Jan Spitz; Gotham City District Attorney Harvey Dent."_

"Damn it," Bullock grumbled. Considering the closer relationship between the DA's office and the GCPD, of course Dent would be on the list. But if that was the case, surely Jim Gordon's name was going to come up.

" _City Councilman Randal Davis; Deputy Mayor Thomas Kavanaugh; Gotham City Police Commissioner James Gordon."_

Damn it, Bullock hated it when he was right.

"Bullock!" Turning his head, the lieutenant saw Mrs. Gordon jogging towards him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Out into the field, where else?" the large man answered, sounding as if it was obvious.

Immediately, Sarah shook her head. "No way, you can't. With Jim gone, you're the next in charge. You gotta stay here and coordinate our forces."

"What?!" Bullock nearly gagged on his own tongue. "The Hell I'm staying. I belong out in the streets, Gordon, and that's where I'm gonna be."

The other lieutenant grabbed both of his shoulders with her hands, her face turning stony. "Wrong. Use your head, Harvey; if you're out there you're an easy target for these Talon guys. Jim may be their top target, but they're not going to just settle for him—they may try taking you out too. Imagine if we lost both you and Jim: there wouldn't be anyone left to lead the GCPD."

"Looks like someone's not considering themselves," Bullock shot back, shaking the woman's off of him.

"Harvey, stop," Sarah snapped. "You know it and I know it, I don't have the same respect the other cops give you and Jim. This is still a male-dominated precinct and women are looked down upon, especially ones in leadership positions. I could run it, but it wouldn't be as smooth as you. Now before you go half-cocked and get yourself killed, use your head and stay put."

Bullock scowled at the former Essen before he grabbed his hat and threw it down on top of his desk. Sarah had a point, which meant he was stuck in this dump.

God damn it.

* * *

" _Gotham City Police Commissioner James Gordon."_

Barbara felt her whole body freeze. It shouldn't have been so shocking; she had known Daddy's position made him a target for anyone with an itchy trigger finger.

But now, the people that were after him were deadly and had every skill and weapon necessary to successfully kill him. She...she couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let that happen!

She was oblivious to the rest of the vigilantes around her. Numbly, she was aware they were trying to come up with a plan to help Batman, but whatever they were talking about was lost to her. All she could think about was one of those Talon's standing over her dad's body, blood pouring out of his slashed throat.

 _Daddy…_

That wasn't going to happen. Batgirl was better equipped now thanks to the Birds of Prey. She had a belt full of new weapons and tools; they were nothing like the odds and ends the Batclan had been using up until now. Eyes darting to a doorway she knew housed the Birds' motorcycles, she felt a plan forming in her mind.

Without so much as alerting the rest of the vigilantes, she made her way to the door.

* * *

Nightwing had his eye on Batgirl the moment he heard the Commissioner's name mentioned. He saw the way she froze up, eyes wide and gazing into a world all of her own. It set him on edge immediately, but there were other issues that had to be dealt with.

"I think it's safe to say that anyone that holds some higher office has a big bull's eye on them," Huntress spoke, drawing all attention to her. "Whatever home security systems they have aren't going to do anything to keep the Talons at bay."

"There's just too many of them," Robin murmured in a daze. "I don't think we can cover them all even if we all took one each."

"No, not an option." All eyes turned to Black Canary, her face brokering no dissent. "We already took on two and that was more than one of us could handle on their own. We go in groups."

"Speak for yourself," Huntress shot back. "In case you hadn't noticed, I was handling the junkie we caught all by myself. No offense to Man Wonder here, but I can take those all day."

 _Man Wonder?_ Nightwing rose an eyebrow at that. He didn't even want to know how she came up with that name, but it sure as Hell better not stick. Still, she did bring up a good point. "Not all of the Talons are trained. I could be wrong, but if the Court of Owls is using those weird cards, that means there's going to be a lot of mind-controlled ones."

Black Canary began rubbing her temples. "That's just another problem. We have no idea who's a full-fledged assassin and who is being controlled, at least until we fight them. That means we have to be extra careful to not hurt the ones who can't help but be used."

Suddenly, there was a tension in the room Nightwing hadn't noticed before. It seemed to be radiating off of Huntress and it was directed right at the blonde-haired woman. Was there something going on between these two? Whatever, now wasn't the time for it.

"So we go in the same teams as last time," he said. "We're familiar enough with each other that way so that should keep us safe when we fight these Talons."

Black Canary nodded in agreement. "That just leaves who we're going after. Huntress and Nightwing, I think you two should go for the Mayor. She's the top official in the city, so she's going to have a security detail that should hold off any attacks long enough for you two to get there. Batgirl and I will go to Judge Spitz' and make sure she's okay. Katana and Robin, you—"

"Umm," Robin suddenly interrupted. "I think we have a problem."

When everyone looked to the younger man, they found him pointing towards a door that was opened ajar. More importantly, Batgirl was missing.

"Damn it," Nightwing hissed. "She has a head start on us."

"What's going on?" Huntress demanded. "Why did Red take off on us?"

"Sorry, but this is personal," Nightwing replied. "Can we borrow one of your bikes? I know exactly where Batgirl is going and if we don't catch up with her, she's gonna get in over her head."

The members of the Birds of Prey looked at each other before Black Canary nodded. "Take one of our spares. Just catch up with her and stay with her. The three of us will try to come up with a new plan. Just tell us where you're heading."

"South Gotham," Robin spoke up, earning a look from the older vigilante. "That's where Batgirl's heading, so you can bet that's where one of the Talon's will strike."

"How vague," Huntress muttered.

Deciding to end the conversation there, Nightwing said, "Let's go, Robin," before heading right for the open door, pushing it aside. The two men entered another room where there were several motorcycles standing, a few of which were obviously not operational. Their engines were half-rebuilt, so they were obviously not usable. There were three with polished paint jobs, so Nightwing assumed those were the Birds' top bikes.

Which just left two motorcycles that were either ready to drive or were just for show. Jumping on one with the keys in the ignition, he turned it and grabbed the handlebar grips, twisting it as he heard the engine rev to life. Perfect, they were in business.

That's when Robin jumped on behind him. In front of them was an open garage door, which they shot through a moment later. "You think Batgirl is going to the GCPD?" the younger man shouted over the roar of the motorcycle.

"Count on it," Nightwing shouted back, the wind whipping at his face and hair. "Hang on tight, we're gonna cover her back, whether she wants it or not."

* * *

A scream echoed out into the night.

Batman came to a stop at the edge of the roof. The scream was close, though muffled. The cry must have bounced off of several buildings, distorting it to the point where it was difficult to determine where it had begun.

So when he noticed two shapes passing by a large window, one moving quickly while the other followed at a more sedate pace, the vigilante knew he was only moments away from a potential murder.

Leaping into thin air, Batman activated the current in his gauntlet and grabbed his cape, feeling it stiffen into its glider form. Soaring, he aimed right for the window, leaning backwards and swinging his legs out in front of him at the last moment. He released his hold on his cape and felt it go limp just as his feet shattered the glass and he landed hard on the floor.

Looking to his left, he caught sight of a Talon standing in front of a doorway, grasping a handle that had a knife's blade extending out of either end. His profile was showing, his head turned to look at the vigilante. There was no sight of his victim nor blood, so hopefully they had managed to escape due to his entrance.

"Batman," the Talon spoke ominously. "You are interfering with my work. The punishment for that is death."

"You won't be killing anyone tonight," the Dark Knight replied evenly. "You're going down hard."

In an instant, the two fighters launched themselves at each other. Drawing his hand back, the Talon struck out with his double-bladed dagger, slicing it through the air. Reacting, Batman blocked the attack with his gauntlet, the blade scraping against the triangle blades. Using his momentum, he rammed his shoulder into the Talon's midsection, wrapping his other arm around his foe as he tackled him to the ground.

Just as they hit the floor, Batman felt a pair of feet press into his stomach. Before he could react, he felt pressure fill his abdomen as the Talon pushed his feet off against him, forcing the dark-clad man to flip over him and land on his back. Sliding, Batman came to a stop in the middle of the doorway, quickly flipping over onto his stomach before he began to push himself up.

Unfortunately, the Talon had rolled himself up onto his feet and was ready for him even with his back to the vigilante. Bending forward, he lashed out with one of his legs, landing a back kick to Batman's face and causing stars to burst into his vision. Feeling his body being thrown backwards, the Dark Knight landed on his back on the floor again, sliding across the laminated flooring of a kitchen until he came to a stop.

Shaking off his daze, Batman caught sight of his foe standing over him, one foot raised high. The moment the Talon brought it down to stomp on him, the Dark Knight shot both of his arms up, catching the assassin's foot as he put the appendage in a hold. Baring his teeth, Batman roughly twisted his opponent's ankle, throwing his balance off and causing the man to crash to the floor.

Getting back onto his feet, the Dark Knight found the Talon had gone into a roll the moment he hit the ground, ending up in a crouched stance. Gone was the double-blade dagger fortunately, though that didn't mean there wasn't another weapon his opponent could draw.

As it turned out, the Talon launched himself at the dark-clad man, fully intent on fighting with bare hands. As he threw a fist, Batman dodged to a side, throwing up an arm to block a second strike from the Talon's other hand. That allowed him to send a jab with his free hand into the Talon's stomach, stunning the assassin for a moment, but long enough for Batman grab the Talon by the side of his head and force the man to a side. The action led up to the vigilante slamming his foe's head into a cabinet with a loud _BANG!_

However, Batman's sudden advantage came to an end when the Talon shot a hand up, forcing Batman's from the assassin's head. With a war cry, the man pushed himself into the Dark Knight, forcing him backwards until he ran into the kitchen counter.

The next thing he knew, the Talon grabbed him by the neck with one hand, trying to choke the vigilante. Gagging, Batman used one hand to restrain the assassin's other hand at the forearm. With his other arm, the dark-clad man swung it out to his side before arcing up high before bring it down on the Talon's inner elbow. This caused the man's arm to bend, loosening his grip on Batman's throat.

At the same time the action brought the Talon's head closer to Batman. Using this to his advantage, Batman forced his own head forward, their skulls colliding together in a loud headbutt. Immediately, the assassin brought both of his hands up to his face as he stumbled backwards.

Placing both hands on top of the kitchen counter, the Dark Knight pushed himself upward, bringing his legs up, and lashed out with them, landing a kick against the Talon's chest and sending him flying back. The man crashed to the floor a moment later, sliding a few feet much like Batman had earlier.

Landing with his feet on the floor, Batman held himself from attacking, instead reaching to his belt to pull out one of his electric shock brass knuckles. Sliding it over his fingers, he made a fist with the armed hand, small electric bolts dancing over the brass knuckles. Allowing his cape to envelop him, he hid the weapon from sight, waiting for the Talon to get up.

He wasn't disappointed. As soon as he could, the Talon was back on his feet and charging once more. However, this time he had drawn two wicked-looking knives, their points gleaming in the light. This didn't change a thing for the Dark Knight, even as the assassin thrust a dagger at his head the moment he was within range.

Dodging to his right, Batman tossed his cape off of him, his left forearm shooting up to block the Talon's extended arm; with his other hand, he slammed it right into his opponent's armpit, sending a high dose of voltage right into the man. Immediately, the Talon's body shuddered and flinched, his extended hand spasming and dropping the knife.

Quickly drawing his electrified fist back, Batman send another punch flying, landing it right on the man's kidney. A strangled cry tore from the Talon's lips as he staggered backwards, spinning as he did so until he ran into a wall, using his arms to brace himself against it.

Batman was upon him instantly. With his free hand, he grabbed the back of the assassin's head and rammed his forehead up against the wall, a loud _BANG!_ echoing throughout the room. Batman could feel his foe go limp and released his hold, allowing the Talon to drop into a heap on the floor.

Kneeling down next to the Talon, Batman placed two fingers up against his neck, checking for a carotid pulse. He relaxed when he found it, content in the knowledge that his foe was merely unconscious. He did frown when he noticed a trickle of blood leaking from the mask. Glancing up, he noticed a spider's web of cracks right where he had bashed the man's head, a light dusting of blood there. It seemed he had used too much force.

A soft whimper reached his ears then, tearing his attention away from the wall. Standing up, Batman moved through a nearby doorway, finding himself in a living room. Off in the corner was a dark-skinned woman, her hands gripping tightly around a baseball bat. The vigilante recognized her as Betty Parks, one of many potential—and in this case, definite—targets for the Court of Owls. "You're safe now," he spoke to the frightened woman. "Come with me. I know of a safehouse for you."

The woman gulped. "A-are you sure it's safe?"

Batman nodded. "I am."

Hesitantly, Parks slowly stood up, never releasing her white-knuckled grip on the bat. Though he was growing impatient with the woman's reluctance, there wasn't much of a choice, not if he wanted to ensure she was safe from another attack. Still, the more time he spent with her, that was more time someone else was being killed.

"Hurry, there isn't much time," he urged her, making Parks jump where she stood. Unable to suppress the growl that worked its way up his throat, he turned around with a flourish of his cape whipping behind him and moved through the doorway. Pausing only long enough to pull out a pair of handcuffs and attaching them around the unconscious Talon's wrists, Batman made his way out of the other kitchen entrance heading for where the front door was. The sound of rapid footsteps told him Betty Parks had gotten over her caution and she was giving chase so as not to be left behind.

Good.

* * *

It seemed like tonight was going to be full of surprises. This unexpected announcement from the Batman had caught the District Attorney off guard by the simple fact that it had happened.

He was further caught off guard when his own name had been mentioned as a potential target. He had heard the stories about the Court of Owls, been scared with them as a child by his parents, and had chalked them up as a bogeyman years ago. After all this time, he had grown to trust in Batman and if he said that the Court of Owls was about to go on a murderous rampage…

Well, he was very inclined to believe it.

So far the vigilante hadn't steered him wrong, so he needed to be ready. Ever since Halloween 2.0, he had made a habit of hiding a gun in his office, just in case City Hall was under attack and he was stuck in the middle of it. A simple pistol, no more, no less, but if he remembered the stories his mother told him at night, he'd feel safer with a second.

Probably should have gone with the semi-automatic, now that he thought about it.

Placing the gun out in the open on his desk and moving to a closet, Harvey took out the baseball bat that had helped him out that terrible night a year ago. Maybe it wouldn't mean much against an assassin, or it could make all the difference. He would be armed with whatever he had on himself, and be ready to face what was coming.

Hopefully this would be the one time Batman was wrong.

Harvey had been turning around to retrieve his gun when he happened to see the window opening by itself. Aw shit, that thing was open? Why hadn't he kept it locked? This could be it; there was no time to second guess. He scrambled for the gun, snagging it and aiming it at the window. Before he could fire, something sharp flew from the window and struck his hand, knocking the firearm out of his grasp.

He gave a cry and clutched at his hand. Okay, that had stung more from the shock than from actual physical injury. Good. He could still fight.

"Harvey Dent."

His eyes flew from his hand towards the masked individual that was now standing in his office and holding a very long knife in hand. Covered in black and with a mask that had similar features to that of an owl, the guy looked armed to the teeth and ready to use everything he had on him.

"The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

"I'm already happily married," he spat back.

The masked assassin, a Talon as Batman called him, lunged at him, blade held out in front. Fortunately for Harvey, one thing he hadn't let go of had been the baseball bat. Even when he had cradled his hand, he had not released his hold on it. That made it easy to swing and knock the bladed-weapon aside.

There was a clang as steel met aluminum, and Harvey felt a bit of satisfaction as the blade passed his body leaving him unharmed. That satisfaction ended when the masked assassin lowered his shoulder and rammed it forward, shoving the lawyer back and towards the door. Since he hadn't closed the door behind him, he tumbled out of his office and into the small reception and waiting room, landing flat on his back.

During all that, he lost hold of his bat and was defenseless as the assassin stalked his way towards him, prepared for a second chance to disembowel him, or whatever else someone could do to a person with a knife that long. Thanks to that mask, there was no hint of triumph or anger or any kind of emotion. Just this stoicism, that this man was not impressed or peeved by Harvey's desperate defense.

He began to scramble backwards, trying to put some distance between the two of them. The Talon simply continued walking, shortening that distance faster than Harvey could make it.

As the District Attorney pulled himself along the floor and out into the hallway, his would-be killer struck, the fluorescent lighting making his lens eyes hellish.


	21. Needle In A Haystack

Gordon knew there was something wrong when instead of meeting the scowling faces of the McKillen twins, he instead had the scowling face of the warden.

Zorbatos and a group of prison guards who looked to be in the process of locking the place down.

"Problem?" the Commissioner asked, remaining calm.

"Keep quiet, Gordon. That'll make it easier to put up with this," the warden snapped at him.

"Maybe I can help. Tell me what's going on. Is it a riot?" he demanded. He wasn't going to be putting up with any of this woman's antics. For all he knew, this was just a ploy to annoy him, as unlikely as that was from her.

For a moment, Zorbatos looked like she was debating with herself. It was an odd look from her, one Gordon had never seen on her face. Coming to a decision, she explained blandly, "There's been a report about an attempt on your life, Gordon. I checked into it; your men in Gotham are going crazy and there's been calls about masked men killing people."

Though he didn't show it, this was all news to him. Because he was the commissioner, he was no stranger to death threats and even an occasional attempt on his life from some lone gunman, or a badly packaged bomb. No, he was more surprised that Agatha Zorbatos, a woman he knew hated his guts was taking what appeared to be precautions to defend his life.

"I know what you're thinking Gordon," Zorbatos spoke up as if she had been reading his mind. "I hate you, but it would cause more problems for me if I got your blood all over my prison. Consider yourself lucky."

Yes, he could see why it would cause her problems. If he was indeed killed here, there would be questions about Zorbatos' ability to run Blackgate. She could even lose her precious prison. That alone meant more to her than any satisfaction she could get from his murder.

It was going to be what he had to depend on if indeed his life was in danger.

Though, who would be crazy enough to try and break into Blackgate of all places to kill him? You had to be crazy, or exceptionally talented to try something like that. He was probably the safest person in the city, if there was a coordinated attack on the city.

Still…

"Can I have a gun?" he asked, though he sounded more like he was making a demand. "I'm afraid I had to check mine in earlier."

Zorbatos gave him a measured look, contemplating if he deserved a weapon or not. If there was one thing Gordon was proud of, it was his marksmanship. Besides, if he were in the warden's position, he'd want every gun available to be ready.

"Estavez, give him your pistol," the warden made up her mind and gave the command. A nearby guard quickly obeyed and handed the Commissioner his firearm, still holding a shotgun in his hands.

Okay, Gordon felt a lot better now. Hmm, the handgun was a bit heavier than he was used to; it was definitely going to have a stronger recoil, but he could make do with it. All it took was a single shot to take a person down. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, but with how things have been going since he had become commissioner, he wouldn't hold his breath.

In the distance, he could hear the sounds of gunfire—a lot of gunfire. By the second, the sounds were coming closer, Zorbatos swore under her breath before she yelled into a walkie-talkie, demanding to know what was going on out there. So it wasn't his imagination then. He could hear someone screaming a reply through the communication device, though it was hard to make anything out from the shots ringing and the violence on the other end.

Gordon readied himself, taking the safety off the gun as he aimed it towards the locked door.

"Commissioner James Gordon," a low-pitched voice hissed. "The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

For a second, he froze, but that second ended soon and Gordon was spinning around to face a man dressed all in black and decked out with a large assortment of weaponry that all looked very, very sharp. Behind him was an A/C vent, hinting that this man had gotten in here via the ventilation system. That was a feat in and of itself as from what Gordon could see, the assassin looked much bigger than the vent.

"Son of a bitch," Zorbatos swore. "Waste him!"

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, at least to the Commissioner. Anyone and everyone with a gun were barely moving as they aimed their weapons at the intruder. The assassin moved in normal time, throwing out a handful of sharp objects with both hands that either knocked the barrels of the shotguns and pistols off, or struck the bodies of their holders.

Gordon hadn't been hit, though he did see one of the prison guards drop to the floor, a throwing knife lodged in his left eye. There were swears from those who were hit, some in the arms, one of the torso, and one in the throat. That guard was dropping to the floor while grasping at the weapon. However, there were still others who hadn't been hit, though their aims had been compromised. That didn't stop them from firing.

The greatest danger was not from the assassin anymore, but from guns that were misdirected, sometimes at another person. A shotgun sent a guard crashing into a wall, another tore one's leg off, and Zorbatos was barely grazed by a bullet, though her eye patch strap was severed.

Gordon was suddenly aware that the masked assassin was just about on him, leaping at him and currently overhead, angling his long dagger downwards. Though the world was still moving in slow motion, he found that he could move in normal time and he stepped aside just as the long blade sliced passed him and pierced the tiled floor.

The world sped back up and as the Commissioner turned his pistol on his attacker, he soon found himself weaponless as the assassin sliced the gun in half with a very quick maneuver with his knife. Then it was all about falling back and trying to put some distance between them. Slash after slash came at him, the older man—he assumed he was the older of the two—barely evaded each one. His necktie was not as lucky as it was cut apart piece by piece with every slash, a sign that Gordon was almost out of luck.

Then his back met up with the wall.

The masked assassin gave no last second quip, choosing to go in for the kill. Gordon's glasses reflected the incoming blade as it drew nearer, and nearer, and nearer…

...until a well-timed shot knocked it off it's course, the tip of the blade stabbing into the wall beside him.

"Move!" Zorbatos roared as she fired another shot. The assassin pulled away and gave him some breathing room, allowing Gordon to scramble away towards the nearest exit. "Get out of here!" came Zorbatos' following order, and Gordon didn't find it in him to disobey. The closest door led deeper into the prison, more specifically to the cells where some of Gotham's finest criminals made their home.

As he scrambled through the door, gunfire blasting behind him, he wondered if he was jumping out of the pan and into the fire.

* * *

With Betty Parks out of danger, safely stowed away in a bunker Batman had hidden in the city—one of many in fact—the vigilante was racing through the Gotham streets, heading for the next closest city official that no doubt would be targeted. At this point, it was best to include everyone that worked for the local government, which unfortunately exploded his list of potential targets.

As he approached the heart of the city, something caught the Dark Knight's eye. It had only been a coincidence, if he was honest, that he just happened to be facing Wayne Tower. The fact that he had been heading in the direction of his company provided him with the sight of a figure repelling up the building. He was too far away to positively identify who it was, be it ally or foe; however, with what was going on tonight, there was no way he could take the chance it was a friendly.

Pushing his foot down harder on the gas pedal, his car surged faster down the road until he was forced to make a left turn. Making a sharp turn, the back of his car began to fishtail, something he was wholly expecting and used to his advantage. Turning the wheel in the opposite direction at the same time he accelerated the car faster, Batman felt his vehicle power slide until he was heading straight down this new street, one that he left an instant later at the first right turn.

This put Wayne Tower right in front of him, directly at the end of the road. A matter of moments passed before he came to a screeching stop, killing the car engine a second later. With the canopy sliding forward, Batman stood up in his seat and lept out of the car, ignoring his transportation as he stared up at the building. Pulling out his grapple gun, he aimed it towards the top and fired, the grapple claw flying high into the air. Batman lost sight of the claw as it seemed to blend in with the dark sky.

The moment his line went taut, the dark-clad man knew he had a good anchor point. Hitting the retraction button, he flew up the side of the building, the panes of glass and sections of concrete blurring in front of him as he zoomed by. Occassionaly he passed by a set of windows lit up by light, which allowed him a view into the room, but even at the speed he was traveling he was able to rule out that room

It was around the 30th floor that he came to an abrupt stop. Seeing as he was reaching the top of Wayne Tower soon, Batman had slowed his descent. That was the only reason why he saw the doors to Lucius Fox's office swing open and the older man rush out. The dark figure that lurked behind him was all the vigilante needed to see in order to act.

Still, there was a nagging thought in the back of the Dark Knight's head. Why was Lucius being targeted? He wasn't a government official, or anyone with direct sway over Gotham. There was something he was missing.

Releasing the retraction button, Batman reached to his belt with one hand, opening one of the pockets and pulling out a small device. One side of it had a suction cup attached, which is what he pushed up against the window glass. Flicking a switch, a small green light flashed on and the vigilante was able to feel a vibration through his fingers.

Regrabbing his grapple, Batman planted both of his feet against the window, feeling the vibration through them as well before he pushed off of them, swinging out into open air until his line stopped. He then began heading to the window, legs extended out in front of him.

The moment his feet hit the glass, it shattered, sending jagged pieces all over the floor as he landed inside the building. A quick press of a button, allowed him to reel in his cable until the claw returned to the barrel of the grapple gun. All of this happened in mere seconds, allowing the vigilante to sprint in the direction he saw Lucius and his stalker go.

Entering a hallway, Batman was quick to note how messy it was. Trash cans and potted plants were lying on their sides, a couple of which were still rolling back and forth. Lucius must have flung them behind him in order to slow his assailant. Ignoring the mess, Batman raced through the hall until he found a set of double doors partially open. Just the sight of them caused the dark-clad man to pull out one of his shuriken, grasping it tightly as he ran. A pain scream rang out through the gap, forcing the dark-clad man to skid to a stop by the doors and fling them open.

Lucius had made a wrong turn it seemed. The older man was sitting on the floor, cradling one of his arms with the other, blood pouring onto the floor from a wound on his shoulder. Lucius was looking up at his attacker, a Talon without a doubt, his face twisted with fear. In turn, the Talon held a bloody knife above his head, ready to plunge it down on his helpless victim.

In the blink of an eye, Batman sent his bat-shaped shuriken flying, the projectile arcing through the air as the assassin dropped his arm down. A second later the shuriken collided with the back of the Talon's hand in mid-stab, a pained cry ringing out as the man dropped the dagger and grabbed his injured hand. Lucius scrambled to a side, avoiding the knife as it hit the floor right where he had been sitting.

In the meantime, Batman had taken off into a run. As he drew closer to the assassin, he leapt into the air, leaning back as he extended one foot out, his other leg pulled back and bent at the knee. Flying, his foot collided with the back of the Talon's head, forcing it forward, and slamming into the wall in front of him. Instantly, the man dropped to the floor in a heap, Batman rebounding off as he landed a short distance away.

Staring at the fallen Talon, it took Batman several moments to realized he had successfully dealt with him. That was...strange. All of the Talons he had fought previously had been more of a challenge. None had been defeated with one blow, not like this. At the very least, the others would have had the presence of mind to dodge the flying kick instead of remaining oblivious to it until it was too late.

"Batman!" Lucius suddenly exclaimed, causing the vigilante to jerk his head to the man. There was a surprised, yet relieved look on his face, something the dark-clad man took to mean there wasn't another threat lurking by. Still, he wasn't one to drop his guard, even as an ache in his chest was growing. It seemed the vigilante wasn't fully recovered from Owlman's attack in the sewers.

"Is there anyone else in the building?" the Dark Knight demanded of the Wayne employee, to which the man shook his head in the negative.

"That...that was one of the Talons you were talking about," Lucius said then. "On the radios, right?"

"He was." At this Batman returned his attention to the assassin, seeing no change in the man's condition.

"But I wasn't on that list you announced," Lucius continued. "Yet one of those guys showed up to kill me."

Which was a point still nagging at the vigilante. Why would the Court of Owls want Lucius dead? Did they have more than mayors and councilmen to kill? If that was the case, then targeting a man of Lucius status made a little more sense. He held an enviable position at one of the largest corporations in the world and with that brought influence over politicians and other businesses. But if that was the case, wouldn't the Court have sent Talons after him? Bruce Wayne was the face of Wayne Enterprises, not—

No, Bruce Wayne was seen as an idiot with a great supporting cast of executives making all of the big decisions. While his high-profile lifestyle would still make Wayne a target—with a Talon probably stalking Wayne Manor at this point—he would be seen as a lesser target to Lucius. And if Lucius was targeted, that meant others outside of the local government were as well.

Damn it, his list had suddenly exploded into the hundreds.

There was no way to protect that many people, not when they were scattered about the city, even with the reinforcements he called out for. So if taking out the pawns were useless, that meant the vigilante had to go after the king, wherever it was. There were no clues, nothing to indicate where the Court was headquartered. It was a needle in a city-wide haystack with no time to do a thorough search, not when these people had centuries to bury their tracks.

Well, except for the Talons that is.

Immediately, Batman was next to the assassin, patting his hands all over the man as he searched for something, anything that could clue him in to where the Court of Owls was hiding. The weapons he found were custom-made, what with the craftsmanship of the owl head on the bottom of the hilt. It would take time to track down that maker though, and that was something he was in short supply of.

The clothes themselves were also unique. Unfortunately there were no labels on them to identify a designer—another dead end. That was to be expected though, it wasn't like these people were buying their assassins costumes from a store.

However, when he pulled off the Talon's mask, he was stunned to find an emaciated face beneath it. In fact, if the dark-clad man wasn't mistaken, this man was an addict. His skin was faintly yellow from jaundice, indicating liver damage. Alcohol and drugs had not been kind to this man.

Suddenly, Batman had an idea as to why it had been so easy to take this Talon down. There had been no prior training for this man to sense his opponent's presence, which was why Batman landed his kick with such ease. It appeared there were some things that couldn't be imparted through a computer chip. Couple that with the lack of nutrition making the man's constitution weaker, so there was less endurance and stamina to withstand blows, never mind the fact the vigilante had rammed his head into a wall.

Then, as if to prove his suspicions, a 10/6 card fell out of the limp Talon mask, slapping down on the floor.

"What in the world is going on?" Lucius spoke softly as he looked on.

A scowl appeared on the Dark Knight's face. "The Court of Owls have appropriated some of Jervis Tetch's mind control technology and have taken Gotham's homeless to make them assassins." While he had known the Court had been up to this, he hadn't expected them to be operational by now, not with Senator Simmons unable to drop off the stolen tech at the subway station.

But then, it was entirely possible that hadn't been the only exchange between Simmons and the Court of Owls. Damn it, he had been too focused on the here and now and not how long this exchange had been going on. Just another mistake in a long line of them he had been making lately.

Unfortunately, now things were more complicated. There was no telling which Talons were trained assassins or mind-controlled homeless, not until they exchanged in blows. Innocents would be caught in the crossfire against their will, helpless to stop what they were doing. In a fit of rage, Batman threw the mask down hard on the ground, seething as he bared his teeth like an animal.

 _The Mad Hatter landed on the floor hard, his top hat popping off his head as it scattered across the floor until it began rolling around in a circle on its brim. Life seem to spring forth from Alice Simmons' eyes, her face twisting with confusing. "Wha? Where am I…" she spoke softly before her eyes widened._

Batman froze at the moment of recollection. When Tetch's hat fell off his head, Alice Simmons had regained her senses. In fact, she had removed that hair band on her head before Tetch could retrieve his hat. That was the only reason why she hadn't fallen back under the Mad Hatter's control while the others had. There was some sort of frequency being broadcast from Tetch to his mind control cards, only being active when Tetch was in contact with the tech.

And there was the trail the vigilante had been looking for.

Unfortunately, his suit or any of the gadgets in his belt didn't have the capability to do a city-wide search. He was going to need help. "Fox," he snapped, causing the man to jump where he sat. Holding out the 10/6 card, the dark-clad man said, "This card is receiving a signal from a transmitter somewhere in the city. Is there anyway you can trace it back to its source?"

Lucius blinked his eyes owlishly before Batman's words registered with him. "I believe so. The R&D department should have something to identify the signal as long as we have a tracing program to guide it."

This could work. "Can you stand?"

"I can, yeah."

"Show me to R&D." It was a little strange he had to say that considering he already knew where R&D was, but he couldn't leave Lucius alone should another Talon be lying in wait. Until the Wayne Executive was somewhere safe, Batman wouldn't leave him alone.

* * *

With a sharp turn, Batgirl entered the alleyway and raced towards the other end. The wind whipped at her red hair and cape, pulling them back as she pressed her body down on her stolen motorcycle.

She didn't make it the entire way, hitting the brakes and causing a loud squealing sound as the rubber on the tires burnt from the friction. The motorcycle slid to a stop underneath a fire escape, Batgirl pushing down the kickstop with her foot and swinging herself off the bike. While the ladder to the fire escape wasn't lowered, that didn't stop the redhead from using the nearby dumpster as a boast. Climbing on top of it, Batgirl jumped towards the opening at one end of the metal fire escape, grabbing onto one of the bars and dangling from it for a second.

"C'mon, Babs, you can do this," she muttered to herself as she began to swing her legs back and forth, creating enough momentum to pull herself up through the opening. Once she had her legs beneath her, the young woman began scrambling up the ladder steps, rushing her way to the top.

Once she reached the top level, she hauled herself onto the roof and stared out at the familiar sight of the GCPD roof. Half-relieved, half-concerned, Batgirl didn't see Jim Gordon anywhere. It was obvious he wasn't taking a break up here; most likely he was doing something about Batman's announcement.

Of course her dad had to be doing something about this crisis. She should have known he'd be in the thick of everything rather than barricading himself at the precinct. The last twenty minutes hadn't been used for thinking, so caught up in her worry that she hadn't thought her father would be anywhere else.

 _Okay, girl, calm down. You need to think now and not go off half-cocked._ Yeah, thinking would have been much better at the Birdcage rather than on the GCPD building. Batgirl cringed at the thought of appearing in front of the other vigilante group, sheepishly returning their motorcycle. She hadn't stolen anything in her life and here she was blatantly taking from three women who had generously taken them into their confidence. It was going to take more than just an apology to rectify this.

Hopefully they would understand. This was her father after all! Surely Black Canary and Huntress and Katana could understand that.

Unfortunately, the redhead didn't have a communication device on her to get back in touch with the others, so she was effectively on her own. If she was lucky, she'd run into one of them while they were saving one of the other people on the Court of Owls' hit list. Then again, with her luck she'd end up running into Batman and that would present a whole other set of problems.

"Hoot, hoot."

Batgirl froze, her eyes going wide. Slowly she turned to her left, setting her sights on a Talon crouching on the edge of the roof. In both hands he held escrima sticks, the assassin casually twirling them around.

Instantly Batgirl dropped into a stance, one hand extended out towards the Talon, the other held high with a one of Huntress' H-shaped shuriken in her grasp. The redhead hoped that she looked threatening enough to make this guy hesitant even for a second.

The Talon merely tilted his head to a side at her stance. "You're a frightened little rodent, aren't you?" his deep voice taunted her. He then stood up to his full height and dropped down onto the roof, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. "And why shouldn't you be? Owls eat bats after all. Eat them _whole_."

"Stay back," the young woman demanded. Unfortunately her words might as well have been mere fluff the way they bounced right off of the assassin.

"Batgirl, you have been judged unworthy," the Talon continued, casually strolling towards her. With a jerk of his arms, he beat the ends of his escrima sticks together, the tips flashing brightly with a blue light, a low hum being made. "For that, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

For a brief moment, fear welled up inside Batgirl. An instant later she sent the shuriken flying, watching it spin towards its target. She felt her stomach drop when the Talon batted the projectile to a side using one of his escrima sticks, clearly unbothered by the attack.

Then he went on the offensive, lunging at the redhead as he held his right escrima stick high above his head and swung it down at her. Immediately, Batgirl jumped to her right, dodging the blow.

Unfortunately, that left her wide open for the assassin's other stick, which he swung at her, landing it against her side. An electrified jolt seared into her flank, causing Batgirl to cry out as she felt her body convulse, then stiffen from the blow. The hit threw her off balance, causing her to stumble away until she dropped onto the ground. Grabbing onto her side, she tried to massage the pain out of it, only to have her eyes widen as she saw the Talon practically on top of her, swinging down an escrima stick at her head.

Rolling, she once more dodge the blow, somehow managing to scramble onto her hands in knees. This gave her the sight of the Talon lunging at her yet again, this time the bottom of his foot was closing in on her face. Forcing her body up until she was only on her knees, she brought up both of her arms and held them up in front of her head. A moment later she felt the kick collide with her forearms, the force of the hit sending her flying backwards until her back hit the door to the roof access.

Even more surprising was how easily the door gave in, Batgirl finding herself busting through it and landing on the staircase beyond it. Gravity set in them, causing the vigilante to tumble down the steps until she landed on the landing. Air was forced from her lungs from the fall, causing her to gasp loudly as she sucked in as much air as she could.

Good God, what had she gotten herself into? She was completely ill-equipped to handle a fighter like this one-on-one. Maybe Nightwing could've handle himself, but she wasn't in his class. Fighting street thugs was one thing, a trained assassin was another. This is what she got for rushing out without a second thought. If only she had some backup.

Shaking her head, Batgirl rid herself of her inner reprimand. This wasn't the time to beat herself up; right now, she had to make it out of this situation alive and then she could lecture herself about running off on her own. Forcing herself into a crouched stance, the redhead looked up at the top of the stairs.

Only to see the Talon in midair, holding both of his escrima sticks upside down, their electrified tips pointing right at her. Instantly, Batgirl dashed to the downward set of stairs, her feet beginning to pound on the steps. A moment later she heard the sticks hit the ground, which was followed by something slamming right between her shoulder blades. Already she could imagine the Talon was using his escrima sticks to balance himself as he aimed a kick at her, obviously landing it.

And that blow sent her flying head first down the stairs. Flashes of her gymnastic meets appeared before her eyes and Batgirl immediately took their advice. Swinging her legs above her head, she went into a flip and regained control of her body as she fell. With a downward swing, she completed the flip, landing on her feet on the second landing, no worse for wear.

However, she wasn't about to congratulate herself on this small accomplishment. Reaching to her belt, Batgirl pulled out a small pellet and whipped herself around. She threw the pellet before she even registered the Talon standing at the top step in front of her, only seeing the pellet exploding into a cloud of dark smoke the moment it hit the assassin in the chest.

Pushing with her legs, Batgirl shot down the next set of stairs and then the next, putting distance between her and her assailant. Seeing a door on the new landing she found herself on, she grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, nearly pulling the door off its hinges as she ran through the doorway and into a hall.

For a moment Batgirl was puzzled. She knew these halls like the back of her hand, yet they were all empty of people. It was eerie to see. Still, she needed to regroup before she took on the Talon again. Running, she headed down the hall, reaching a turn and taking it. However, as she turned, she caught sight of the stairwell door beginning to open, a dark shape beginning to emerge through the threshold.

Okay, so this guy thought he could stalk her. He had another coming to him if that was the case. Let him follow her all he wanted, he'd have second thoughts if he knew just where she was going to lead him. Pumping her arms at her sides, she ran until she reached an intersection, taking a right. This turned out to be a short corridor that opened up into the bullpen for the Major Crimes Unit.

A very _empty_ Major Crimes Unit.

Batgirl slowed her pace until she stopped. Where was everyone? This place should have been filled with foul-mouth cops with guns. Instead there wasn't a soul to be seen anywhere.

A second later and the redhead nearly slapped herself silly. There was a city-wide crisis going on, of course the cops would be out in the streets trying to quell it. Damn it, she had screwed up majorly.

"Nowhere left to run, little bat."

Batgirl only had time to whip around when she felt a bulky body ram right into her. Letting out a surprised cry, she was tackled to the floor, landing roughly on her back. She didn't let this get the best of her though as she shot both of her arms out, grabbing onto the Talon's forearms. It was a good thing too as the assassin hovered over her, slowly pushing down against her strength as he brought the electrified ends of his sticks down to her face. Teeth bared, Batgirl pushed back with all of her might, but found she was losing the battle with every inch those blue-glowing tips drew near.

"Goodnight, little bat," the Talon taunted.

A frustrated cry ripped out of Batgirl's mouth.

The sound of a gunshot rang out, an explosion of blood erupting from the Talon's shoulder. The escrima stick ends jerked and Batgirl leaned her head to a side, her arms giving out. The sticks collided with the floor, the Talon collapsing next to them a moment later. Scrambling across the tile, Batgirl tried to put some distance between them when she froze.

Standing at the entrance to the bullpen was none other than her stepmom, Sarah keeping her legs spread apart as she held her handgun with both hands. There wasn't so much as a tremor in her grip as she kept the weapon aimed at the Talon. "That's enough out of you two," she warned them.

For a moment, the Talon's body went still, only to begin shaking from a low chuckle. "Anyone that has seen a Talon must never live to tell the tale," he said in a mocking voice, twisting his body around to face the police lieutenant, pushing himself onto his knees as he did so.

Those word didn't even faze Sarah. "You're under arrest, Sir. Put your hands behind your head and—"

The Talon didn't even let her finish as he swung his arm out, sending his escrima stick flying like a bullet at the lieutenant. Unfazed, Sarah stepped to a side, turning her body until her profile was facing the assassin, the stick flying by her harmlessly. The moment the weapon was out of the way, Sarah resumed her previous stance even as the Talon began to charge at her.

Another gunshot rang out, resulting in the Talon jerking back as another burst of blood flew out of his back. Unfortunately he stayed on his feet, looking as if two separate bullet wounds wouldn't stop him.

There was no way Batgirl was going to find out if that was the case. Back on her feet, the vigilante grabbed a nearby chair and heaved it up. Spinning, she swung the chair through the air and slammed it against the back of the Talon's head. The assassin dropped like a bag of beans, landing hard on his face and chest. Raising the chair above her head, Batgirl brought it down on top of the man's skull, making sure he was out even as the piece of furniture broke apart.

When everything went still, Batgirl found herself beginning to pant. The surge of adrenaline she had been feeling was beginning to fade even as she heard footsteps approach her. "You okay?" Sarah called out to her, keeping her gun trained on the fallen Talon.

"Somehow," Batgirl answered her. "Thanks for your help. I don't think I would have come out alive without you."

However, before Sarah could respond, someone else did. "It's too early to be saying that, rodent."

Eyes widening, both women turned to see yet another Talon crouching on top of a nearby desk. In fact, there were two others also perked on various desks, making three in total. How the Hell had they gotten in here?

"Just how many of them are there?" Sarah demanded as she pointed her gun at the nearest assassin.

Then as one, each Talon pulled out sharp knives. "Lt. Sarah Gordon," one of them said. "The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

* * *

Harvey didn't know if his ears were playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn he heard someone say, "What the?!"

He could be forgiven for that since he had a Talon practically on top of him and trying to gut him like a fish. To save himself, the District Attorney twisted his body to a side, the Talon's long-bladed knife striking and getting stuck into the carpeted floor. That left his back facing his would-be killer, but it allowed Harvey the leverage to push back onto his feet and make a dash for it.

He knew he should have seen it coming, but he had put himself into the vulnerable position of being tackled from behind, his killer perfectly willing to abandon his weapons if it prevented his target from escaping. Harvey let out an "oomph!" as he slammed against the floor, the Talon's added weight forcing the air out of his lungs.

Gasping as a sense of panic hit him, Harvey threw an elbow back in desperation, and thankfully hit the Talon in the head. That also sent a shock through his funny bone, but he'd take what he could get if it got him away from the bastard trying to kill him.

A hand grabbed at his dress shirt, and before he could try to make a run for it, the black-haired lawyer was pulled back into the unfriendly grapple of the Talon. He wasn't going to let him get away, was he? Guess it was time to go back to his first plan and try to beat this guy to a pulp.

Harvey turned himself around in the Talon's hold, and with a free arm threw a punch at the masked face. He hid a wince as it felt like he had just hit a brick wall. That didn't stop him from landing a second punch, though. The Talon, deciding he had enough of being hit in the face for the day, caught his third punch, his gloved hand cupping around the lawyer's fist and holding firm.

That gave Harvey enough room to put a leg between them and push away, freeing his fist while he was at it. Already panting from his exertions, he scrambled back to his feet while watching the Talon like a hawk, waiting for the next bout of action. There was just one problem: the assassin didn't look like he was paying attention to him, instead looking at something over his left shoulder.

"No witnesses," the Talon then uttered.

Witnesses? What? Harvey couldn't help himself; he looked over his shoulder as briefly as he could and spotted what looked like a scruffy-looking man who looked like he had come off the streets. Recently too, he might add.

Some sort of attachment on the Talon's wrist shot out a knife, the man behind Harvey crying out, "I'm not getting paid for this shit!" as he pulled out a gun that in no way fit the image he was trying to give himself. That told the District Attorney that this was no ordinary bystander who had got caught up in this.

"Get out of here!" he yelled at the man. Though he had a feeling that this guy probably wasn't here because he really liked being in a government building, that didn't mean that he should be collateral damage in whatever beef this masked assassin had against him.

But he didn't leave, instead pulling the trigger as the Talon leapt out at him to attack.

And Harvey wasn't going to leave whoever this was to face him alone.

* * *

Lucius Fox was right, there was something in the R&D department that proved itself useful. For all intents and purposes, it was a frequency jammer, but that's not what it would be used for this night.

Hooking up the jammer to his palm pilot, Batman began running a trace on the frequency the Tetch card was using. The frequency jammer by nature sought out radio waves and zeroed in on specific frequencies. From there it could interrupt the frequency wave and stop the signal. For now, simply searching for the broadcast signal was all the jammer was needed for.

The vigilante had considered using it to interrupt the signal the Court of Owls was using, but there was always the possibility the Court would just change frequencies. It also would alert them that someone was challenging their plan and cause them to send their assassins to deal with the problem. If it weren't for Lucius, Batman would have welcomed such an attack as that reduced the number of people being targeted.

It was a risk just letting the signal run, but it was one he was forced to take.

"Is it working?" Lucius asked. The man was currently using his suit jacket as a sling for his injured arm, not to mention strips of it were wrapped around his wound.

Batman narrowed his eyes at the screen as he continued to scan. "Not yet, but—" The palm pilot flashed for a moment. The vigilante stopped what he was doing. He had been onto something there. _Shorten the wavelength, decrease the peaks and valleys…_

 _There!_ The Dark Knight tapped a couple buttons on the palm pilot, locking in onto the frequency. "Got it," he announced.

"That's great!" Lucius praised.

"Now, let's see where its source is," the vigilante murmured as he began a city wide scan for the signal. With a map of Gotham appearing on the screen, he zoomed out of it, the strength of the frequency appearing in the corner. If he wasn't mistaken, the signal seemed to be coming from somewhere downtown.

Zooming in, Batman made adjustments to his search, using the signal strength as a guide. It took a couple minutes of guesswork, but soon he zeroed in on the source. Staring at a grid square where a dot was blinking, the dark-clad man scowled.

"Did you find it?" Lucius asked cautiously, seeming to notice the dark mood that had overcome the vigilante.

Batman gave a sharp nod. "Powers Hotel."


	22. Strange Bedfellows

Huntress stared down at the lifeless body of Judge Jan Spitz. She had been an avid jogger and never missed a chance at a late evening jog. Considering where she lived, that was a luxury she could easily do. Unfortunately for her, tonight turned out to be a bad night to wear sweatpants.

The judge was slashed up from head to toe, blood pooling around her lifeless body. The Talon that found her had really worked her over. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first dead body the Birds of Prey had found.

Even worse, Huntress could feel her frustration building. There were too many people that needed protection tonight, yet the three of them were sticking together like some boy scout troop taking a nature hike. The Batclan was pretty much useless thanks to some hotheaded thinking by one of their members—who shall go unnamed. That just left the three of them and Batman doing their damnedest to mitigate the fallout.

"Where is nearest person?" Katana asked, the Asian woman looking out to the city. She had already put the death behind her, obviously, and was looking towards the next target.

Black Canary was standing next to her, doing the same. "There's probably more people we can help here. This neighborhood is full of judges and politicians. It's only a matter of time before one of them has a Talon drop in. I'm thinking if we do a sweep, we can find one."

"Meanwhile, someone else is going to end up with their throat slit, or have enough stab wounds to compete with Swiss cheese for holes," Huntress snapped, earning her the attention of the other two women. "What we're doing isn't working and the longer we pretend it does, the more people are going to end up dead."

A scowl appeared on Black Canary's face. "Then what do you propose we do? In case you haven't forgotten, we're not dealing with ordinary thugs here. We have a better chance at beating these guys if we stick together."

No, no they didn't. "Maybe you do, but _I_ know _I_ can handle myself," the purple-clad woman retorted. "I did fine on my own at Nightwing's place. And Katana was the one that put that first Talon on his toes."

"Aren't you forgetting the one you and Nightwing fought was under mind-control?" BC responded just as heatedly. "And that's another thing: these aren't just people we can wail on. A lot of them are just innocent people that got caught up in this. We can't—"

"We can't what?" Huntress demanded. "You think I'm going to go for the kill shot because these Talons are too tough not to?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm worried about."

There was a tense silence. Internally, Huntress was seething. Now was not the time for them to be concerning themselves about tactics. They were in a deadly game where they could easily die if they weren't careful, or made the mistake in giving mercy to someone they shouldn't be. In fact, she was downright sick of Black Canary and Katana's constant watching of her. She had only gone for a kill shot twice in over a year's time, couldn't they figure out that she knew well enough when to pull and not to pull that trigger?

"That's it, I'm done with this." Spinning around, the purple-clad vigilante stormed towards her motorcycle, throwing a leg over it as she prepared to drive off.

"Where the Hell do you think you're going?" Black Canary demanded as she marched after her.

" _I'm_ going to go save someone's life, not find what's left of it," Huntress replied as she revved the engine of her bike to life. "I don't know what _you're_ going to do, but I can guarantee that it won't involve me."

The blonde woman looked as if she wanted to keep fighting this screwed up thing out, but stopped when Katana put a hand on her shoulder. "No time for this," she stated, perhaps the first words tonight Huntress found herself agreeing with. "Best we split up, save more lives."

The look BC gave the Asian woman was of disbelief. Before she could say what was on her mind though, Huntress pipped up. "Glad we're in agreement. I'm heading into the city; you two do what you think is best. I'll meet up with you when this is all over, if not sooner."

Not even waiting for a reply, Huntress sped off, leaving her two comrades in the dust as she raced down the street. Grim determination etched itself on her face as the rich suburbia blurred around her, the start buildings of the inner city looming far in front of her. Despite this fight of theirs, a nagging thought refused to leave the vigilante's mind the further she moved away from her team.

What if this split up wasn't temporary?

* * *

The roar of gunfire filled the room. Sarah kept blasting away, taking aim at the Talons and unloading every bullet she had.

Unfortunately, these guys happened to be insanely good—by that, Batgirl meant they were leaping from desk to desk without so much as breaking a sweat, dodging each and every shot the police lieutenant fired. It was like watching frogs leaping from lily pad to lily pad. At the very least, Sarah didn't seem frustrated by this, merely dropping her clip when it went empty and loading in a full magazine a literal second later. The younger woman was really impressed with the ease she pulled this off without so much as losing a step.

As Sarah turned to take a shot at one of the Talons, she became blinded to one landing on a desk off to her left. A knife held high, the assassin threw it, the blade flying point first towards the policewoman.

"Look out!" Batgirl shouted as she dove at the lieutenant, tackling her to the floor as Sarah let out a startled cry, the knife lying over head harmlessly.

Lying on the ground with her arm on top of her comrade, Batgirl knew they couldn't keep this up. Their attackers were too damn good to be taken down with bullets; they simply kept on the move, making it hard to get a good shot at them. The two women needed to get out of the open and at the very least reduce the amount of room these Talons could use to keep dodging.

"C'mon! Let's get out of here!" the redhead ordered as she forced herself back onto her feet, dragging the police lieutenant up with her. Keeping her hand on Sarah's shoulder, she pulled the woman after her as she began to run. Fortunately, Sarah didn't argue with her and kept up with the younger woman.

Taking off into a nearby hallway, they rushed towards the end until they were forced to make a left turn. As they took the turn, out of the corner of her eye Batgirl caught sight of the three Talon's giving chase, halfway down the corridor and closing in on them.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Sarah suddenly asked as they picked up their pace.

"No, not really," Batgirl reluctantly admitted. "But we couldn't stay in the bullpen. Eventually you'd be out of bullets and—"

Suddenly, Sarah shot a hand out and pushed the vigilante hard against her side. Letting out a surprised cry, Batgirl found herself hitting against the wall with her shoulder, her legs stumbling as she tried to regain her balance. She was about to demand what that was for when a knife clattered further up the hall, bouncing across the floor until it came to a stop.

Oh, so Sarah saved her from having a knife in her back. What a thoughtful woman.

However, that got her to thinking: why was she the only one not doing something? At least Sarah had been using her gun earlier. She hadn't done much other than run all over the station. Reaching to her belt, she pulled out another H-shaped shuriken and sent it flying down the hall at the incoming Talons.

Instead of hitting one of them, they all shot to the sides of the hall, allowing the projectile to fly by harmlessly, not even losing stride. Oh, so that's why she hadn't tried that.

That's when Sarah's handgun went off again, this time resulting in one of the Talon's practically stopping his run, his shoulder jerking backwards from the bullet that had blasted through it.

 _Alright, Mom!_ Batgirl cheered in her head. Unfortunately, any further good feelings that shot had given was stripped away as one of the still-running Talon's sent a throwing star spinning through the air, hitting Sarah in the hand and knocking her firearm out of her grasp. "Ah!" the policewoman yelled in pain, grabbing her injured hand.

Instantly the Talons were upon them. Batgirl managed to get a hand up to grab her attacker by the wrist, preventing him from plunging a wicked-looking dagger into her neck. However, the momentum of his charge sent them tumbling to the ground with the redhead landing hard on her back. Still, she held firm, keeping the knife from digging into her vitals parts. So focused was she on her assailant, she had no clue what was happening to Sarah.

"Accept it," the Talon whispered to her, softly, comfortingly even. "There is no escape from this."

"No...way," Batgirl grunted back. She was tempted to try to dig her thumb into the Talon's eye to get him off of her, but just looking at the lens told her that was an act of futility. However, that didn't mean she couldn't improvise. Shooting her free hand up, she wrapped her fingers around the side of the man's neck and dug her thumb hard into his throat. Immediately she felt the Talon's strength wane, allow her to push the deadly dagger further away.

That advantage didn't last for long as the assassin reached up with his other hand and grabbed her by the wrist and firmly pulled her fingers away. "Your resistance is pitiful," he growled.

Suddenly, the Talon's body jerked up as a mangled cry howled from his lips. A static discharge coupled with an intense blue light framed his head, causing Batgirl to stare with wide eyes.

Then as sudden as it began, it ended, the Talon collapsing on top of her. "Oof!" the vigilante groaned before she got a look at what caused this sudden turn of events. Standing right in front of her was Nightwing, both of the electrified escrima sticks in his hand, one of which was held out right where the Talon had been hovering over her.

"Long time, no see BG," the young man greeted her.

"What took you?!" Batgirl demanded with relief in her voice.

"Just a second." Nightwing turned away then, which caused Batgirl to follow with her head as best she could. Pulling up one of the sticks, the young man lunged to where a second Talon stood kneeling on his feet. A cord was wrapped around his neck and the assassin was holding tightly to it with both hands. A short distance away stood Robin on the other end of the cable, pulling back with all his might. His reason for doing so was Sarah Gordon laying in front of the assassin, her hands pressed tightly to her side, blood leaking between her fingers.

With a swing of his arm, Nightwing slammed the escrima stick right into the Talon's face, a flash of blue light radiating out as the static sound rang out. Sarah's assailant dropped to a side, landing roughly on the floor as his body began to convulse every few seconds.

"That makes three," Nightwing said glumly, staring down at the assassin.

"Umm, hello?" Batgirl called out. "A little help here?"

"Hmm? Oh, you mean that human-shield on top of you? I'm sure you can handle him all by yourself. What do you think, Robin?"

"I agree. I mean, she did try to take on three of them."

Batgirl scowled. "Har de har har, you're both idiots. Not get this guy off of me!"

Never letting his smirk leave his annoying face, Nightwing stepped towards her and knelt down, placing the escrima stick on the floor next to him before grabbing the Talon and pulling him off of the young woman. Letting out a sigh, the redhead sat up and looked to Sarah. "Are you going to be okay, Lieutenant Gordon?"

"Oh, yeah," Sarah said, her tone seeming to wave off her concern without a second thought. "I've been hurt worse than this. I just need to get something on it."

"I think we can arrange that," Nightwing said. "Hold on a second and—"

"Guys!" Robin suddenly shouted in alarm, causing the three of them to jerk their heads to the younger man. The red vigilante was looking towards the third and last Talon, the one Sarah had shot earlier, and more importantly, was back on his feet. However, he didn't seem as interested in fighting as he seemed to be stumbling backwards down the hall, slowly putting distance between them.

"You've just earned yourself a reprieve," the assassin spoke haughtily. "Another Talon will be along soon to finish all of you, mark my words."

Nightwing had the escrima sticks back in his hands and was up on his feet in an instant. Walking towards the Talon, he shot back, "No way they come back if you don't make it out of here."

Robin had a couple of the H-shaped shuriken in his hands, waiting for the other vigilante to reach him. "I've got your back."

As it turned out, the young men's threats turned out to be nothing more than posturing. As the Talon passed by a door, it suddenly swung open, causing the assassin to twist to look at the doorway. A loud blast rang out and the Talon went sailing backwards until he crashed into the wall, dropping into a heap on the floor.

Stunned, the vigilantes and Sarah stared at the either unconscious or dead Talon before someone emerged through the doorway. With a smoking shotgun in his hands, Bullock appeared, staring stonily at the fallen assassin. "Sentence me to die, huh, Freak?" he taunted before he looked towards the hall's other occupants. "So, there's more of ya?"

"Down, Harvey," Sarah ordered him, moving one of her bloodied hands up, indicating to stop. "They're not the Talons."

"If you ask me, they're just the same."

Nightwing looked down at Robin, who returned the look. "Not a fan of us, is he?" the older male remarked.

"Obviously," Bullock spat as he faced them, keeping the barrel of his shotgun trained on them. "Now, mind telling me why you three bat-wannabes are in the GCPD?"

Batgirl was on her feet by now and felt that if there was a single chance at making sure no one else was shot, she had better be the one talking. "We heard Batman's message. We just happened to be near the GCPD when he mentioned Commissioner Gordon as a target, so we thought we'd come and help out."

Bullock and Sarah were quiet before the large man snorted. "You're out of luck, Toots. The Com'mish is at Blackgate."

Batgirl felt her stomach drop. She tore through the streets of Gotham and nearly got killed twice only to find out her dad wasn't even here. Goddamn it.

"So the police commissioner only has prison guards to protect him?" Nightwing spoke. "Sounds like that's where we need to be."

Bullock frowned. "What makes you think I'm gonna let you three idiots out of here?"

"Because we're the Commissioner's best shot at surviving," the dark-haired man replied. "I'm not sure what training those Blackgate guards have, but I highly doubt it's as good as the GCPD. He's gonna need backup if he wants to make it through the night alive."

There was a tense moment before Sarah surprisingly spoke up. "He's right, Harvey. If Jim's gonna make it out of this, he'll need them. Let them go."

Bullock's frown turned into a scowl. However, he did drop the shotgun barrel down. "I swear to all things holy, one of these days I'm not going to let some city-wide crisis get in the way of me taking you lawbreakers in. Got that?"

Batgirl didn't have to imagine the smirk that was surely on Nightwing's face. "Sure you will."

* * *

Gordon's rapid breaths filled his ears as his ran. Down the hall, left turn, down that one, another turn; at this point, he was basically lost in the prison, not that he cared. People tended not to care where they were when they had a blood-thirsty assassin on their heels.

Reaching another intersection, Gordon made a right, looking back the way he came as he turned. Not too far away was the pursuing Talon, one hand holding throwing stars between his fingers, the other gripping his bloody dagger. Hauling ass, the Commissioner raced down this new corridor, hoping against hope that he could survive long enough to get some help.

"Commissioner!"

Relief flooded the older man's stomach. Up ahead were two prison guards, each one hold a sub-machine gun in their hands. Both had questioning looks on their faces, but that all changed when the Talon came into view.

"Fire!" Gordon screamed as he shot between them, the sound of machine gun fire erupting an instant later. Slowing down, he turned around and watched as the assassin pulled back into the previous hallway, hiding around the corner. Bullets pelted the wall at the end of the hall, casing falling and clattering on the floor.

"Don't worry, Commissioner, you're safe now," one of the guards said to him. "We'll kill this—"

"Move!" Gordon shouted before he lunged for the speaking guard. Tackling him down, Gordon barely got his head up in time to see the Talon's throwing stars whirling through the air and stab into the second guard. It was almost like the first time with Zorbatos, only this time the poor guard was hit with multiple projectiles. From what Gordon could see, there were a couple of throwing stars in the guard's chest and one right in his throat. The man gasped over and over as his hands grabbed his neck and he slowly sank to his knees. Had Gordon not seen the assassin's arm dark into the corridor when he did, there would've have been two dying men instead of just one.

"Connors!" the prison guard yelled before he pushed himself up, forcing Gordon off of him. Staying on his knees, he began firing his machine gun again, screaming like a madman. "I'll get you, you bastard!"

"Stop it, you idiot!" Gordon roared in the man's ear. "We have to go now before the Talon is ready!" The moment he was back on his feet, he grabbed the guard by his shoulder and began pulling him backwards. This did nothing to stop the man from shooting his weapon. Neither did it stop him from shouting at Gordon.

"Get off of me! Let me go!"

"Don't be stupid! We need to take cover now!"

"I said, let go of me!"

Suddenly, the guard's gun stopped firing, the repeated clicking of the hammer going over and over. There was a brief moment where both men stared at the empty machine gun dumbly.

That moment proved to be costly as the Talon darted into sight. There was a flash and Gordon saw the assassin's knife flying through the air. Before he knew it, the blade impaled the guard right between the eyes, immediately making his body go limp. This caused the Commissioner to lose his balance and fall to the floor.

Grunting, Gordon closed his eyes tightly for a second before reopening them. Walking like a cat stalking its prey, the Talon closed the distance between them, his hand pulling out a clean dagger from a holster on his hip. A sense of dread filled Gordon as he watched the killer approach him.

Scrambling, the Commissioner pushed himself up onto his knees. Because of this, his hand landed on something hard on the dead guard's belt. Grabbing it, Gordon found himself heaving up a large, heavy, metal key. It looked like something right out of a old prison movie. No way would it be of any use in holding off a mass murderer.

So like anyone with a brain in their head, Gordon flung himself onto his feet and darted into a nearby hallway. At least he had thought it was a hall—instead he found himself right in a dead end, the only things in sight were three heavy set doors, one straight ahead and two to his right.

 _Goddamn it._

Seeing as the doors to his right were open, revealing small rooms that led to open jail cells, Gordon headed right for the closed one. Obviously the guards he had run into had been guarded this sector, thus the key he had picked up belonged to the closed door. If he was lucky, he could seal himself in the next chamber and keep the Talon at bay.

Reaching the door, Gordon hefted up the metal key. Finding the keyhole, he shoved the key into it and grabbed hold of the key's handle. Twisting it, it turned to a side and the locking mechanism clanked as it moved. Releasing the key, Gordon then grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.

The first thing that hit him was a blast of frigid cold air. It was shocking to feel. The second to hit him was something ramming right between his shoulders. Letting out a pain cry, Gordon flew into the cold room and crashed onto the floor, sliding over it a short distance before he came to a stop. Gritting his teeth, he let out a hiss and he moved a hand to rub the spot he'd been hit. Simultaneously, he rolled onto his side, turning so he could see what attacked him.

He quickly wished he hadn't. Standing in the doorway was the Talon, slowly lowering a raised leg. So, the assassin had kicked him. Strange considering how the man had used his weapons pretty much exclusively until now. Stepping forward, the killer approached him, the light entering the room from the doorway glinting off his blade.

"No more running," the Talon spoke, perhaps for the first time since his initial attack. "You cannot save yourself."

Steam blew from Gordon's mouth and nostrils with every breath he took. This...this really looked like the end. Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising considering the tendency of the Mob leaving corpses in giant freezers. For the first time it would be in a prison though, so…

Wait, a giant freezer in a prison?

Before Gordon could put two and two together, the Talon's body suddenly went stiff, his head jerking backwards almost unnaturally. A gasp escaped his lips as his fingers began trembling until the knife fell to the ground.

Then the Talon dropped to his knees right before collapsing face first onto the floor. If Gordon thought that was a good thing, he was mistaken. Emerging into sight stood a bald man with blue skin, one hand raised at shoulder height. His dead eyes focused right on the Commissioner and the older man wished he could say the shiver running down his spine was from the cold of the room. No, this was definitely coming from this man, Blackgate's most infamous inmate.

Victor Fries.

"What unusual guests I have," Fries spoke in his soft voice. "The first I've had since my incarceration."

Gordon swallowed deeply. "Dr. Fries," he returned the cool greeting. "Thanks for your help."

Fries glanced down to the Talon on the floor before returning his sights to the Commissioner. "Strange that someone of your status should be here with this bizarre man."

"Gotham is under attack," the older man spoke quickly. "The Court of Owls is—"

He was interrupted by a snort. "The Court of Owls. You speak of a ridiculous superstition."

"Then how do you explain that man you just…" Gordon trailed off. "What _did_ you do to him?"

"Simple physics, Commissioner. My body temperature is well below that of a normal human. By coming into contact with my skin, heat was sucked out of your assailant and severe hypothermia was induced. He is no longer a threat."

 _Note to self: do not touch Fries._ Nodding numbly, Gordon replied, "Good. That man at your feet is called a Talon. Just look at his mask and you can tell it's true."

None of his words fazed the cold man. "Your childish accusations are wearing on my patience. I highly suggest you leave."

The Commissioner climbed to his feet, but he didn't leave. Faintly he was confused as to why Fries hadn't tried escaping, what with the door to his cell wide open. Then he recalled the former Iceman couldn't survive outside of a sub-zero environment.

However, considering what was going on tonight, that hindrance had to be ignored. It was crazy to even consider this, but with everything that was going on tonight, Gotham needed help in the worst of ways.

Even if it came from the hands of the man that tried to destroy it.

"Fries, whether you believe it or not, it doesn't matter. Right now there are more men dressed like that," at this he pointed right at the fallen Talon, "and they intend on killing as many people as possible."

There was a quiet moment before the cold man replied, "You talk as if you are trying to persuade me into something. What is it you desire?"

"What Gotham needs right now: help."

For the first time, Fries responded with a human reaction: he raised an eyebrow. "Is the Batman not enough? Surely he is fighting these men."

"Of course he is, but even he can't be in fifty places at the same time. We need more; Gotham needs more. You once tried to fight for this city—won't you try again?"

The other man was silent for several moments before he answered, "No."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"This city has refused the help I offered. In fact it twisted it beyond recognition. No one would be foolish enough to return to assist such a deranged city."

Considering Fries attempted mass murder, it was a good thing he had been "refused" as he claimed. However, he was wrong about one thing and Gordon had to keep himself from swallowing his own tongue considering how much grief it had caused him. "Batman did."

That made Fries pause. Seeing he had struck some sort of nerve, or at least was making the man think, Gordon pressed. "Even he had to step away , but he did come back and he hasn't wavered in helping this city. It has been awhile since you were out there, but Gotham is changing, slowly, but it is happening. If these murderers have it their way, all that change will be for nothing. You can make sure it doesn't happen.

"Gotham needs Victor Fries."

* * *

"Will he, or won't he? Kill 'em, or don't kill 'em? Run them over with a car, or don't? Oh, Teddy, I just don't know what to do!"

This was just absurd. You would think a reasonable gentleman, such as himself, would be able to make his own decisions. He was old enough to not need his mommy to dig the holes for whatever animal he had disemboweled; this shouldn't be so hard. But...it was! It truly was!

The Joker squinted his eyes as he licked his dried lips. He held his teddy bear over him as he lay comfortably on his bed. The question he had was simple, yet carried so many degrees of difficulty that it could spiral into a mess of bloody proportions.

Would he put Teddy's eye back into place, or would he not?

Now, this seemed like such an obvious solution. Putting the eye back in would make Teddy whole again and who was he to deny _his_ teddy bear to not be whole? But then, the missing eye added character to the bear. He had seen things and done things no teddy bear had seen or done, so that made him special. Like Batsy special. That wasn't quite Joker special, but it was really up there, just above squirting flowers, but right below whoopee cushions.

So you could really see his quandary.

With a dramatic sigh, Joker swung his head to a side so he wouldn't have to look at Teddy. No, no, don't look at him like that Teddy. Stop it Teddy. STOP IT!

The pale man squeezed his eyes closed. Ha! Now he couldn't see Teddy looking at him with his judgemental eye. But...that wouldn't stop Teddy from judging him silently with that small, beady, black eye. Oh no, now he had to make sure Teddy was doing that! Oh merciful God, spare him the—

The moment he opened his eye, Joker couldn't help but shriek. Right in front of his cell stood these two weird guys in head to toe black, all sorts of nifty, sharp knives strapped to their chests like suicide bombs. It wasn't that he was scared, nope, nope, nope. He just wasn't expecting company was all!

So once his heart quit beating inside his chest like a deranged snare drum, he said, "Hey guys, Batsy called. Said he wants his look back."

And just like the Dark, Tragic Bat, these loons just stared at him silently, as if this was some sort of peep show. Wait...was this a peep show? Oh, how could he not know! It seemed they wanted some action and who was he to refuse them? Now, where was his _other_ teddy…

"Joker," one of them suddenly said, their voice a soft whisper. "For your crimes, you have been judged unfit to live in society."

Joker bolted up, sitting up on the side of his cot as he looked at Tweedle Black and Tweedle Hack in outrage. "Hey, just because your parents didn't want you doesn't mean you have to treat me the same way! My mother loved me even after the car ran over her head!"

Despite his rage and apparently wide-spread reputation, these guys had the gall, _the gall,_ to ignore him like he was some two-bit Bat-wannabe. "The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

"Die? Me?" He...he was shocked. Positively shocked. Why, no one had tried to kill him since the last time someone had threatened him. Ah...such lovely memories…

However, there was a small flaw in these guys' plan. "Well, if you're the ones trying to kill me, I hate to break it to you, but that glass wall between us? It's bulletproof—virtually impenetrable. You would have to actually open the door to get to me, so yeah, I'm seriously doubting your credibility."

That didn't seem to bother Black and Hack though. Like they were Siamese twins, they pulled out lovely-looking knives. My, such lovely craftsmanship! And...oh look, they had the access card to open the cell door.

Hmm, that was going to be a problem.

Swiping the card, a portion of the glass slid to a side, allowing fresh, air-conditioned air to sweep into the cell. Ohhh, that felt nice. You know, he really needed to reward these guys for such a treat! "So, you guys are ready for a bloody time with me," he said thoughtfully, the two creepy guys entering the cell. "Well, if we must do it now, you at least have to let me get into something more comfortable."

In a flash, he sent Teddy flying at the closest knife guy's head. In response, the man batted the teddy bear out of the way with his arm. However, if he was expecting the Joker to be in his bed still, oh, he was in for quite a surprise. In fact, Joker was right in front of him, crouched low. Now, what would a homicidal maniac do in such a situation?

Oh! Oh! He knew! With a sharp jab of his elbow, he buried it right into the man's side, right where the oh-so soft kidney was. Tweedle Black hissed from the blow, jerking to a side.

And he...was...GONE! Like a bolt of lightning, he was sprinting down the halls of Arkham. No one as white as he had run so fast, he'd have you know. Why, he must have been as fast as a speeding...human.

Hmm, that didn't sound right. Neither did bullet for some reason. That made him think of blue pajamas and red underwear. Oh, that would be so embarrassing to wear on the outside.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears then, making the green-haired man look over his shoulder. Hey, the black guys chasing him. Sheesh, it was like they were after his money or something. Jokes on them, he didn't have any—

Well, hello.

There, right there, was that? Could it be? Joker came to a skidding stop right in front of a door, a small placard labeling it as JANITOR'S CLOSET. Yes, yes! This was perfect! Grabbing the doorknob, he twisted it and swung the door open, diving inside with the door closing behind him. Oh, and before he forgot, he locked the door too. You could never be _too_ careful with all those weirdos around.

Unfortunately it was dark. Damn it, where was the light? Light, light, light, where was the—oh! A string was rubbing along side his face, to which he reached up and grabbed it. With a jerk and a click, a light bulb on the ceiling lit up.

Oh yes, this was just what he wanted.

Suddenly, a loud pounding sound hit the door, nearly scaring the brown out of him. Why, if he wasn't mistaken, someone was trying to get in the closet with him too. Well, too bad! They had to wait their turn, just like any joe-schmoe! It was common courtesy, don't ya know!

Dropping to the floor, Joker sat on his hindquarters as he pulled the mop bucket next to him. Looking to the shelf next to him, he studied all of the bottles before he began picking out ones at random. Opening one, he took a bit whiff of it before he smiled. This would most definitely do. Flipping it upside down, he poured all of the contents into the bucket and tossed the bottle away. Picking out another, he did the same thing, only pouring a dash in. Couldn't have too much of that, ya know.

Over and over, he mixed and matched fluids, tossing the ones he had no use for over his shoulder when he found them. Now, he was smelling something quite wonderful, but it was missing something. Now, where was it, where was it, where was...oh, that might work. But it had lemon in it. Oh, he couldn't use that, could he? Well, he hadn't tried it this way, but...well, why not? Pouring a small stream into it, it didn't take long before a loud BOOM! rang out and a cloud of gas flew out of the bucket.

Oh yes, oh yes, this was _definitely_ what he wanted _._ The lemony scent wasn't a bad touch either, but the last thing he wanted was for someone to go out thinking of lemons. It would distract from the punchline too much. Hearing the pounding on the door again, the Joker lit up. Perhaps those fine folks could let him know if this was a keeper.

Standing up, he unlocked the door and shoved it open, revealing the two black guys on the other side. The gas from the bucket flew right into their faces and bodies, covering them for a brief moment. "So tell me, and don't lie, don't try to spare my feelings—what do you think?"

"You can't escape," one of them said threateningly before he seemed to hesitate. Then, "Hee hee hee hee."

That was when both men burst out laughing. "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" their laughter echoed, both of them stumbling backwards as they held their guts. They even dropped their knives to the floor.

Emerging out of the closet, Joker watch intently. "I can definitely see gut-busting, but that's not exactly the punch I wanted. It was a nice try, but it's definitely lacking in oomph. Well, thank you guys, it's been a blast!"

Pausing for a moment, Joker kneeled down and picked up the knives. They really were made from good quality. It would be a shame to leave them behind. Well, since these guys weren't going to need them...

"And thanks for the souvenirs! It was nice doing business with you!"

* * *

The Joker scene was a fun one to write. It started off difficult, since I had no idea how to start it, but once it got rolling, wow. The scene itself is based off of one in the comics where the Joker managed to escape his cell and hid himself in a Janitor's closet, so he could make a batch of Joker Venom out of household products. Really makes you wonder just whats in those chemicals.


	23. Oh God

It wasn't well known that within the gloves Huntress wore were a metal plates. She hadn't had them very long, getting the idea after seeing Batman hold off Katana's sword with his gauntlets after he had returned from his hiatus. It wasn't a bad idea to be honest and it was one she had appropriated into her own costume. While she doubted she could hold off Katana at her best, she could take on knives and clubs and other things of that nature.

Which was why she was so glad she had incorporated the plates. She had been racing through the Gotham streets, looking for a Talon, any Talon, when one had landed right on the back of her bike and tried to stab her with a sword. Oh and there had been that sentencing to die thing these guys just loved saying too.

Having dodged the initial strike, Huntress found herself with one of her arms held up in front of her, the blade digging into her purple glove as she held the weapon off. The Talon was crouched behind her, trying to pull the sword towards her, her arm being the only thing protecting her from being sliced up at the moment.

Of course this affected her driving.

Tires squealing, the motorcycle jerked and swerved from left to right, narrowly missing light poles, mail boxes, and cars, parked or otherwise. It was extremely tough handling the bike with one hand, but what choice did she have?

She felt the pressure from the sword grow stronger then, just as a head moved next to her ear. "You cannot fight us," the Talon mocked her, much to her fury. "Your struggle, though entertaining, is only delaying the inevitable."

It it wasn't for their current positions, Huntress would have shown this jerk just how "inevitable" this all was. She had to change this quick, otherwise she really was just delaying things.

Glancing down the street, she couldn't help but notice a building, parked cars in the side parking in front of it. There was a rather large window directly behind the cars, which coincidentally put it right in front of her. Unlike some vigilantes in this city, a thousand different ideas didn't flash through the purple-clad woman's head, but she did get one that she quickly opted for. Unfortunately, this was going to hurt.

Accelerating, Huntress rushed down the street, heading right for the cars. The Talon seemed to notice this sudden changed and turned his attention away from her. If there was anything he could do, he obviously didn't think about it, not when the front of the motorcycle crashed into the side of the parked car, causing it to stop instantly.

However, due to the simple physics of momentum—and a distinct lack of safety belts—Huntress and the Talon were sent flying off the bike, careening through the air, and slamming right into the window. Glass shattered the moment they made contact, the two entering the building. The vigilante was faintly aware of the sword disappearing from against her arm, but that was replaced by the sudden stop of her flight as she crashed onto the carpeted floor, knocking the wind out of her as she let out a muffled grunt. Broken pieces of glass rained down her her throbbing body, to which she couldn't even move to protect herself.

"What the Devil?!" a voice suddenly exclaimed.

 _Damn it, don't tell me there are people here._ Huntress slowly raised her head, one eye shut closed as she fought to keep the other one open. She discovered she was in some sort of lobby, one that had three other men in it aside from the Talon and herself. Automatically she could pick out the two younger men as hired goons; the third man was much older and heavier set, a distinguishing head of white hair on his head. The crash must have done something to her head to slow it down because it took her longer than normal to recognize this man.

The Talon had no such deficits. Picking himself up, the assassin stood straight—swordless fortunately—and faced the three men. "Rupert Thorne," he rasped, "you have been judged to be unworthy. The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

Thorne—he was one of the new players in the city. Much to his credit, despite being blatantly threatened, he merely glanced to his two thugs and said, "Kill 'em both."

Confident smirks appeared on the thugs' face, each one raising their hands up, one to pull open their jackets, the other to reach in and pull out their guns. Neither one of them got the chance to do so, however.

In a blinding flash, the Talon sent two throwing knives slicing through the air. Huntress hadn't even seen the guy move, only that both of his arms were extended out. The next moment, one knife dug into the face of one of the goons, dropping him to the floor instantly. The other knife pierced the second man's shoulder, causing him to cry out as he stumbled backwards until he lost his balance and collapsed to the ground.

Which left Thorne looking dumbly at his fallen men. A darker impulse within Huntress whispered to her to let the Talon finish his job, that Thorne wasn't worth the effort to save considering the things she knew about him, had heard about him. However, another voice, one that sounded like a low growl barked that she was better than that.

God, she hated the voice.

"Run," Huntress hissed out, jolting Thorne out of his daze. Taking one look at the Talon, the white-haired man spun around and dashed over to a set of doors, shoving them open and disappearing beyond them. The Talon, unfortunately, didn't seem perturbed by this, merely pulling out another knife and giving chase, vanishing from sight after crossing through the doorway.

Grimacing, Huntress forced herself onto her feet. What had felt like a good idea at the time was really starting to look dumb, but then she didn't have a choice. As quick as she could, she hurried to the double doors, hobbling as she moved. She spared a quick look at the two Thorne thugs, one of whom was obviously dead, the other writhing on the floor as he grasped the dagger in his shoulder. Reaching the threshold, she shoved the doors open and passed through.

What she found on the other side was more like a warehouse than anything. It was wide open, empty of crates aside from a couple of trucks. There was a catwalk that circled the room along the walls, a metal staircase nearby that granted access to it.

And running on the catwalk was Thorne, going at a pace that seemed at odds with his fat body. The Talon was hot on his heels, however, having reached the top of the stairs and giving chase. Following with her eyes, the dark-haired woman tried to figure out where Thorne was running to, if he was indeed heading somewhere.

Patience hadn't ever been her strong suit and this time didn't prove to be any different. Giving up the internal analyzing, Huntress did was she did best and pulled out her grapple gun. Firing it, she watched as the cable flew through the air until the claw pierced the wall some distance ahead of Thorne. Hitting the retraction button, she found herself pulled off the ground and flying through the air.

Huh, no wonder Batman preferred using these things.

As she approached the catwalk, Throne had reached right where her grapple cord was, slowing down as he stared at it. Then for whatever reason he turned around and gasped at the sight of the approaching Talon. Stumbling, he ducked under the cord, trying to run again. The distance he had on the assassin would not be regained as the man leapt over the cable, landing literally behind Thorne.

A moment later Huntress landed on the catwalk, releasing the grapple as she twisted her body around to face the two men. The Talon had his hand pressed up against Thorne's back, shoving him down hard on top of the metal flooring. The older man was crying out, panic distorting his voice as his attacker raised a knife high above his head.

Lunging forward, Huntress shot a foot out and rammed it into the back of the assassin's knee, causing it to buckle. The Talon let out a cry of surprise as he jerked forward, losing his balance as he dropped to one knee. Grabbing the man by his shoulders, the purple-clad woman used as much strength as she had to force the man against the railing. Pushing harder, she caused the assassin to flip over the rail and drop off the catwalk.

Staring, Huntress watched as the Talon seemed to twist around in the air before he landed on the ground with a sick _THUD!_ As she continued to stare, the dark-haired woman found her hand dropping to her crossbow and pulling it out.

The reason for this was the Talon had begun to move again, his arms angling to pushing himself up. Just what was this guy made of? Hopefully something fleshy and soft, she thought, as she aimed her crossbow at him. From here she had a direct shot at the back of the man's head. It would be so easy, one less threat to Gotham.

She had to take it.

Yet, for some reason, she found she couldn't squeeze the trigger. It was almost as if her finger were frozen, refusing to do what she willed it to. Why was it defying her? It wasn't as if it had a mind of its own!

This was a trained killer, someone that wanted her dead along with a lot of innocent people. If she didn't put him down, he would go on killing and killing. Except...what if this was one of those controlled people? She could be killing someone that was just the wrong place at the wrong time. Could she deal with that? It was one thing to use deadly force against a willing combatant; it was another when the opponent wasn't even there on their own free will.

"What are you waiting for?!" Thorne suddenly shouted. "Shoot the bastard before he kills us!"

Oh great, now she had a suspected mob boss telling her what she already knew. This shouldn't be so difficult! And yet she still found herself hesitating. _Pull the trigger._ She didn't have the time for this. Every second she waited was one her opponent had to get back on his feet and make this fight longer, if not deadlier. _Pull the trigger._ This was an easy decision. _C'mon, pull the damn trigger!_

She squeezed her finger.

The bolt shot from her crossbow, flying through the air until it hit its target. A strangled cry rang out as the arrow pierced through the shoulder blade of the Talon, his body dropping back down onto the ground. Though she couldn't see it, Huntress knew the tip of the arrow had penetrated the concrete floor, effectively pinning the assassin down.

"What kind of shot was that?!" Throne roared next to her. "You couldn't have had an easier shot if you had made it yourself. Now that freak can just pull your arrow out and—"

Done with the lecture, Huntress shot her hand up, the back of her hand colliding with Thorne's face and effectively shutting him up. The larger man dropped like a brick onto the catwalk unconscious, a dazed look on his face.

Keeping her eyes on the Talon below, Huntress felt a weight leaving her shoulders as she let out a sigh. She wasn't entirely happy with what she had done, but she could live with it. It was a shame she had this inner turmoil for a piece of shit like Thorne and she had the feeling she'd be losing some sleep over it in the coming days. But she hadn't taken a life and that had to mean something, right?

 _Whatever._ There was more work to do and hopefully more worthy people to save. Turning, Huntress made her way to the staircase. She wasn't going to bet on it, but maybe her bike was still in working order, otherwise she was going to need a new ride.

Maybe Throne wouldn't mind her borrowing something...

* * *

They were surrounded.

It had been an obvious trap in hindsight. Riding behind Black Canary on her motorcycle, they had spotted a shadowy figure dart into an alleyway. Giving chase, they followed it into an abandoned lot, where only a cement slab stood.

Within an instant the tires blew out, Katana and Black Canary bailing off and watched helplessly as the motorcycle crashed on the other side of the slab. By the time they were back on their feet, several Talons had appeared, each one whispering the women's impending deaths.

That had been mere minutes ago. With five Talons surrounding her, Katana held a defensive stance, her sword held up and off to her right, the blade itself extending parallel in front of her face. Looking over the edge, the Asian woman took note of the two swords pointed towards her by her foes. Another Talon was bobbing from side to side, each fist clutching daggers. The last two had sais in their hands. Using the reflective surface of her sword, Katana spied her assailants behind her, waiting to see what their actions would be.

That was when one of the sword-wielding Talons lunged at her. In a flurry of movement, Katana blocked the sword, then spun to her left. Swinging her sword, she kept it close to her body until she faced the side of her attacker, pushing the weapon out just slightly. This resulted in her sword cutting into the man's shoulder.

 _Assassin._

As the Talon jerked back from the cut, Katana memorized the distinctive design of his mask, right before she leapt to her left, dodging a sai being thrust at her. Pivoting on her right foot, the Asian woman swung her left up into the air, her kick being blocked in response by the attacking Talon. Undeterred, she thrust her sword at her attacker, this one twisting to a side to avoid the attack, but not far enough as the blade made a cut against the man's hip.

 _Controlled._

Though she was in a very unstable pose, Katana was not concerned with another attack; in fact, she made sure her vulnerability would not be taken advantage of. Pushing off the ground with her planted foot, she quickly brought her extended leg in, spinning her body around as she lashed out with her sword. The swinging blade kept the assassins at bay long enough for her to land with both feet on the ground, her weapon returning to a defensive pose.

However, she was not finished. With a hand at her waist, she held two throwing stars. Spotting the dagger-wielding Talon, she continued to spin towards him, unleashing the projectiles as they went flying at their target. In response, the Talon used his knives to block the throwing stars, blocking them both with quick strikes.

That's when the other sword-using Talon struck, his weapon held over his head before swinging it down at Katana's back. Raising her sword above her head and pressing her palm against the backside of the blade, she blocked the powerful blow, her knees buckling to where she was forced to kneel on the ground.

Or so she would have liked her opponents to believe. Though kneeling, she was not there against her will. Using her free arm, she jerked it down and back, ramming her elbow right into the groin of her attacker. A high-pitched gasp came from behind her, followed by the pressure she felt against her sword lessening. She could practically feel heated breath against her ear.

With her same arm, she rotated it up until her hand grabbed onto the front of the Talon's uniform. With one arm, she pulled as hard as she could, forcing the Talon to lunge forward and off his feet. With the assistance of gravity, the assassin landed face first on the concrete, his body going limp before he completely collapsed into a heap. Standing up, Katana was quick to cut her fallen foe on the side.

 _Controlled._

Although it meant close quarters, this was the only way Katana knew how to discern who she was fighting. Her husband's soul, long trapped within her cursed sword, could determine who she was fighting, a trained assassin or one of the poor individuals forced into servitude. All it took was one cut and he knew, which he then passed to her.

Movement reflected off of her sword. Twisting around, Katana saw the unharmed sai-using Talon charging at her. Thrusting the sai in his right hand, the Asian woman knew exactly what her opponent was trying to do. He wanted her to block his first thrust with her sword, so that he could attack her on the outside with the second sai—a basic, if not useful tactic.

Yet, she was far from a beginner. Using her free arm, she shot it out in front of her, her forearm colliding with the Talon's wrist, blocking the strike. On instinct she swung her sword up, this one blocking against the side of the second sai.

Footsteps from behind her. Dropping her free hand to her waist, Katana grabbed the end of her scabbard and gave it a twist. This caused the scabbard to rotate up and block the sword strike from the remaining sword user. She could feel steel bite right between her shoulder blades, however; though her scabbard ensured it would only be a shallow cut. Rotating her own blade, Katana swung it across her body, cutting across the sai-wielding Talon in front of her—

 _Assassin_

—as she pivoted on her feet. Though she aimed to slice her other attacker, she was only able to watch as he leapt backwards, avoiding the attack as she sliced only air. Landing back on the ground, Katana immediately crouched down, the rush of air ruffling her hair as a sai jabbed right where her torso had been.

Pushing her legs up and towards the sai-wielding Talon, Katana rammed her shoulder into his abdomen right as she grabbed hold of his extended arm. With her sword, she swung up, her blade biting right into his wrist and slicing it cleanly off. A howl of pain tore from the assassin's mouth as he stumbled back, dropping his other sai as he moved to grasp his bleeding appendage.

Before Katana could make a move to finish the wounded man off, a flash of light hit the corner of her eye. In response, the Asian woman forced the Talon to turn, allowing her to take cover behind him. A second later the assassin screamed again, the hilt of a knife sticking up over his shoulder indicating that the dagger-using Talon had thrown one of his weapons.

Tired of the screaming, Katana hefted her sword in her grasp to get a better grip, then jammed the bottom of the hilt into the Talon's face. That silenced him instantly, his body dropping to the ground in a heap.

This gave the Asian woman direct sight of the knife-wielding Talon. His stance indicated he wasn't about to press an attack, but she was not one to drop her guard, not without being sure. Any further analysis proved pointless though, as out of nowhere a dark-clad Talon came flying through the air and crashed into the back of the dagger-user.

Immediately Katana closed the distance between them. As the two Talons landed on the ground, she pulled a leg back and swung it forward, delivering a kick to the side of the bottom-most Talon's face, causing his head snap to a side. A glance at the top Talon informed her that this one was also unconscious.

With a quick jerk of her head, Katana spotted Black Canary a short distance away, her body leaning towards the Asian woman with her arms extended out. So she had thrown her opponent at Katana's, a boon for the two of them.

Twisting her body around, Katana was quick to cut both of the Talons with one stroke, getting both of their shoulders. _Controlled...Controlled._ That just left a controlled sai Talon and a trained sword Talon for her.

Both of whom were rushing her simultaneously.

"Katana, down!" Black Canary shouted from behind her. Realizing what was about to happen, the Asian dove to a side, covering her ears as she hit the ground.

A moment later, a high-pitched scream rang out and Katana could feel the ground beneath her tremble. Despite her best efforts, her ears sent jolts of pain into her skull, making her bare her teeth as she fought the urge to cry out. Chancing a peek around her arm, she caught sight of her remaining Talons flying backwards through the air until they slammed into the side of a building. The concrete beneath them was chipping away, the paint of the building peeling off from the force of the Canary Cry.

And then it stopped, both assassins dropping into a pile on the ground. A constant ringing in her ear, Katana slowly picked herself up, keeping one hand pressed against the side of her head. It would take some time for the pain and ringing to go away, but she would have to bear with it.

"You okay, Katana?" the blonde woman asked her then, her voice sounding as if it were coming from a long distance away rather than a few feet.

"Be okay," the Asian woman responded, resisting the wince working its way onto her face. "Where to now?"

"Not sure," Black Canary answered as she looked around. "Obviously we're targets too, which means the others will be too." She paused. "I don't like that at all."

Katana knew what her partner meant. While the two of them could handle themselves, the inexperienced Batclan were much more vulnerable. It seemed it had been a mistake to let them go without support.

Hopefully that would not come back to harm them.

* * *

The Powers Hotel stood tall amidst the Gotham skyline. With gargoyles sculpted in the form of owls watching over it, it seemed rather obvious this would be a nest for an owl-centric organization. Couple that with the connection of Joseph Powers to the Court of Owls and it practically announced this was where the so-called Owls gathered.

With the high-beams on, reflecting off the glass front doors, Batman punched down hard on the accelerator, charging the building head on with this car. The reinforced front rammed into the doors and pulverized them in an instant. Shattered glass and broken metal pelted the windshield as the sleek, black car sailed into the lobby, roughly bouncing on the floor as it landed. Finally hitting the brakes, the tires ripped up the carpet as the car skidded to a stop.

Opening the canopy, Batman was about to leap out of the car when he noticed something out of place. Despite how brightly lit the lobby was, there was no one in sight; a red flag went off in the Dark Knight's head.

However, despite all the obvious clues, there was still a problem. As Bruce Wayne, he had been in this building before and not once had he seen anything that could have been used by the Court, not that he had been looking. Digging through his memory, even now, brought up very little in where he needed to go.

So when knowledge was lacking, obtaining it was the next step. Typing on the console in the car, keys flashed as his fingers tapped on them. A small screen above the console flashed to life in response.

This was an old upgrade that he hadn't had the need for lately. Wirelessly he could connect to the supercomputer in the cave and access its database remotely through the car. Currently he was having the computer pull out blueprints for the Powers building; unlike being in the cave, this would take longer due to the transfer process.

The results soon appeared on the screen, Batman hitting one button over and over as he went through the floor-by-floor plan. So far he was familiar enough with the layout to know he wasn't missing any—

 _Wait, what was that?_ Stopping, Batman moved back a couple images until he stopped on the 26th floor. There, right in the middle of the floor was a completely different design. It was almost as if the outer rooms were hiding one right in the center of the floor. Eyes narrowed, Batman felt this was the best place to start looking.

Leaping out of the car, he absently hit a button on his gauntlet that let the canopy slide shut, locking the vehicle as well as activating countermeasures should someone get the idea to approach it. Marching towards a room that contained a known staircase, Batman shoved the door open and moved right into the middle of the stairwell. Seeing a clear view all the way to the roof, the vigilante pulled out his grapple gun and pointed it up, firing the claw a moment later. Hearing the grapple claw make contact with the ceiling, he hit the retraction button and began ascending upwards.

The stairs that circled around him blurred as he flew by them. Up and up, Batman moved until he reached a landing with a door indicating it to be the entrance to the 26th floor. Releasing his hold on the retraction button, Batman dangled in midair for a moment before he began swinging his body back and forth. He did this until his feet reached the railing; the moment he did, he released his hold on the grapple and landed easily on the landing.

Opening the door, Batman entered a hallway, pausing as he observed his surroundings. If he wasn't mistaken, this hall circled the entire floor, which meant he had to find the correct room that allowed entry to the hidden one. Using his memory, the vigilante moved through the halls like a wraith, eyeing anything and everything.

Like the lobby, there were no guards, no signs of traps whatsoever. Something wasn't right about this. Sure this was a secret society, but they stayed secret by eliminating anyone that possessed any knowledge of them. Leaving their hideout unguarded was not the way to go about ensuring secrecy.

Batman suddenly stopped, a thought popping into his head. What if he was being allowed this far? It was a more likely scenario than him getting here without resistance. Either that or the Court had already abandoned this place in light of what they had wrought upon the city, evading possible retribution. Either way, the Dark Knight did not like these strong possibilities.

That was when he heard a sound, the sharp squeal of creaky hinges. Jolting out of his reverie, the dark-clad man looked ahead and noticed a door further down the hall was opened ajar. Oh yes, this was definitely a trap. Unfortunately, in order for him to go forward he had to step into it.

Striding to the open door, Batman shoved it open and entered the room beyond it. Unsurprisingly it was empty despite the luxurious furniture and decorations. Crown moldings of owl heads were evenly spaced about the room, mocking him as they stared.

Scanning the room, the vigilante found him attention dropping to the carpet on the floor, right in front of a bookcase. There was a discoloration in the carpet, as if something had swept the fibers to one side, making it appear lighter. It was almost too cliche to believe the bookcase hid a secret passage.

Approaching the bookcase, he looked for anything that stood out that may be some sort of release. His efforts proved to be for naught as he noticed a crack between the bookcase and the wall. Moving to a side, the vigilante pushed against the wooden shelving, revealing the expected hidden entrance.

Damn it, they were literally guiding him now. The level of arrogance the Court of Owls was presenting was galling to him. They were daring him to continue.

Far be it for him to refuse their invitation.

Pressing on, the small hallway Batman found himself in was composed of stone, a complete contrast to the rest of the building and its wallpaper and sheetrock. Up ahead was a wooden door that fit more in a medieval castle than a skyscraper in Gotham. Reaching the door, Batman pressed his hands on the wooden surface and pushed it open.

So, this was why the Powers Hotel had been unguarded, why the dark-clad man had been led by his hand here. In front of the Dark Knight was a large stone room filled with Talons, all of them looking right at him. There was no use counting their numbers as they mingled and merged together before separating—a trick of the eyes, but effective.

Before this sea of black-clad assassins stood a single Talon, no weapons in his hands, though that could easily change in an instant. "Welcome, Batman," the Talon greeted loudly. "Very few outsiders are allowed into the Talon nest—a singular honor presented to you alone."

Honor...Batman couldn't say he felt flattered. Instead he growled, "You're in my way."

"Your quest, sadly, will not continue," the Talon responded. "Even you at your most skilled would not leave this room alive, to say nothing of your current state.

"Make peace with yourself. Your sentence will be carried out in full."

As one, the mass of Talons began withdrawing their weapons, Batman watching as the sea of black began to flow towards him. This...was definitely not good, but what choice did he have? These Owls believed themselves untouchable, invincible even. If there was anyone that could show them the error of their delusion, it would be him.

Baring his teeth, Batman let out a battle cry as he plunged into the approaching fray.

* * *

Blackgate Prison was a long way from the GCPD. Even on motorcycles it was taking way too damn long. Every second ripped into Batgirl's stomach, causing her worrying to nearly blow her head apart.

It was truly a wonder how Nightwing kept up with her, even with Robin riding behind him on the bike—he had to worry about two passengers instead of just one. It didn't seem to bother him that their speed was practically in the triple digits.

Which is what made making turns so frustrating. Batgirl wasn't comfortable enough to make the turns at such high speeds, forcing her to slow down. One such turn was coming up and already she was cursing at its very existence.

Killing her speed, Batgirl began to lean to one side as she went into the turn, Nightwing doing the same. As it turned out, that was the only thing that kept all of them alive as out of nowhere their front tires simultaneous blew. With the handlebars jerking in Batgirl's hands, she fought to keep steady, righting the bike even as it began to swerve.

Squeezing the brake handle as hard as she could, the redhead tried to slow the bike down until it came to a stop, managing to succeed right before she hit a curb. Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, the young vigilante looked to her friends, finding them further down the street. It seemed Nightwing had controlled the sudden turbulence better than she had.

She then focused on her tire. The first thing she noticed was a hole, obviously where her blowout had happened. However, it was the throwing star sticking out of said hole that really got her attention. Jerking her head up, she immediately began to scan for where the throwing star had come from.

It turned out to be too late for that.

Out of nowhere, something rammed right into Batgirl's side, knocking her off the motorcycle and sending her crashing onto what turned out to be the sidewalk. A set of boots landed on either side of her, trapping her between two legs. Shaking off her daze, the redhead peered up to see a Talon looming over her, both hands holding a sword high up, its point aimed right at her.

Batgirl reacted on instinct. Her right fist shot out and nailed the assassin in the groin. Instantly, the Talon's legs buckles together as a gasp tore out of his mouth. His fingers lost their grip on the sword and let the weapon fall; unfortunately, its pointy end was coming right for the young vigilante.

That's when a _CLANG!_ rang out, a shuriken colliding with the sword and knocking it away to clatter on the ground harmlessly. Batgirl had no idea who threw it, Nightwing or Robin, but she was going to kiss them when this was over for the save. A moment later Nightwing flew into view, knocking the Talon off of her and into a heap a short distance away.

"You okay?" the young man demanded as he looked down at her.

"Just fine," Batgirl responded as she hauled herself onto her feet. "Thanks for the—"

"Guys," Robin's voice suddenly pipped up. "I think we have a problem here."

Looking up, Batgirl felt her stomach drop. There were at least five Talons, maybe more, standing in the street, silently staring down the trio. Robin was edging his way towards the other two, keeping his eyes on these new assassins.

"This just isn't our night," Nightwing grumbled.

As if that had been a signal, the Talons launched themselves at the vigilantes. Robin held his arms up and shifted into a defensive stance while Nightwing held his escrima sticks up at shoulder height, ready to use them for defense or offense. Batgirl dropped her hands to her belt and quickly pulled out the H-shaped shuriken. All the while, the three of them backed away, soon finding themselves standing in the middle of an empty basketball court.

A couple of the Talons then threw their arms out in front of them, an awkward gesture while running to be sure. However, a flash caused by the light from the streetlamp reflecting off the metal surface of ninja stars alerted the redhead to the reason behind such action. Diving to her left, Batgirl went into a roll to end up on her feet, the throwing stars flying by right where she had been standing previously.

Countering, the vigilante sent her own shuriken flying at her charging opponents, only to received the exact same result as two of the Talons juked to a side to dodge. One of the dodging assassins angled his body towards the young woman and raced at her, arms pumping at his side.

At the last moment, one of his hands pulled out a long knife and held it high, the Talon swinging it down to stab her. Batgirl jumped backwards to avoid the attack, keeping her eyes glued on her opponent. Undeterred, the Talon drew his blade up, his arm crossing over his chest before he swung the knife out across his body.

This time Batgirl dropped to the ground, leaning to one side as she pressed her hand against the ground. Shooting a leg out, she swung it out in front of her, sweeping the assassin's feet out from under him.

However, the Talon was quick to recover as he fell through the air, going into a roll the moment his arm and shoulder hit the ground and pouncing back onto his feet. Flipping the knife around in his hand, he jabbed the end at the vigilante, aiming for her head. Realizing she wasn't in the best position to get out of the way, Batgirl was forced to twist her body around, leaning backwards a half-second before the blade reached her face. Shooting her hands up, she grabbed her attacker's wrist and forced the dagger up to help her avoid being stabbed.

Continuing to lean backwards, Batgirl found her back landing on the ground. Yet, she saw her opponent's momentum was putting him right above her. Quickly, she shot one of her feet up and pressed it right into his stomach, pushing off of him as she launched her foe flying head first through the air.

Continuing to roll, Batgirl went feet over head until she was crouched on the ground. Twisting her head around, she saw the Talon pushing himself back onto his own feet. Well, so far the redhead had managed to not get stabbed—which was a good thing by any measure—but this flipping and rolling and...well, basically pushing wasn't getting her anywhere.

Glancing around to see if something could help her, Batgirl realized one of the poles for the basketball net was a short distance behind her. Returning her sights to the Talon, she began to back away, hoping he wouldn't think anything of her action.

Whether he did or not, the assassin chose to resume his attack as he began to stalk towards her, the dagger held up between them. He had to be thinking of going for another stab—hopefully. Sensing she was about where she needed to be, the young vigilante stopped, holding both of her arms up in a defensive stance.

And as she hoped, the Talon went for the stab. Jerking herself to a side while simultaneously twisting her body to follow the striking knife, Batgirl brought one of her raised arms up higher, using it to prevent a backswing of the assassin's arm, or possibly an elbow strike. Faintly, she heard the knife scrape against the basketball post as it made contact.

With her other arm, she shot it to the back of the Talon's skull and grabbed onto it tightly. Using her strength and the Talon's momentum, she shoved the man's head forward until his face collided with the post, a loud, dull _DING!_ ringing out. Dazed, the Talon dropped to his knees, letting to of his dagger so that he could brace his body up against the pole. Not letting such an opportunity go to waste, Batgirl used both hands to again slam the assassin's head against the post, this time knocking him out like she wanted.

 _I did it!_ echoed throughout Batgirl's head. It wasn't the smoothest fight, but she took out a Talon on her own. That meant there were at least four more to beat up, assuming Nightwing and Robin hadn't taken any out. Alright, let's—

Suddenly, a searing pain exploded in Batgirl's back. A scream tore out of her lips as she fell to the ground. Pure agony was burning up and down her spine and legs and arms, the young woman unable to focus on anything else.

 _Hurts too...much...help..._

* * *

With one escrima stick, Nightwing blocked a stab from a sai, using his own weapon as leverage to shove the attacking assassin to aside. With his other escrima stick, he swung it as hard as he could, striking the man in the side of his head. Instantly he could see he dazed his opponent as he stumbled to a side.

Not giving up, the young man launched himself to his helpless foe, hammering repeatedly down on the Talon until he was nothing more than a quivering ball of bruises and blood. The Talon shouldn't feel too bad about the beating, it was the same way Nightwing had left one other assassin so he was in good company.

And it all wouldn't have been possible without these escrima sticks. It had been luck he found them lying in the GCPD and he was damn glad he had. They felt so much better in his hands than the police batons he had been using. All he needed to do was remove some of the owl designs, maybe put his own colors on it, and they'd be right at home in his arsenal.

Looking away from his pride-and-joys, he saw Robin holding his own against his own Talon, the two in some sort of stalemate as they had both opted for hand-to-hand combat. Sparing a second, Nightwing felt confident the younger man could hold out for a while yet. So that left Batgirl.

Looking to his left, the vigilante caught sight of the redhead standing over a fallen Talon, his slumped form leaning against a basketball pole. Well, that was sweet. Now then…

Suddenly, another Talon appeared, sword in hand. Where he had come from, Nightwing didn't know, but he was right behind Batgirl. Before the vigilante could so much as utter a sound, much less a warning, the assassin swung his sword, cutting right into the young woman's back, causing her to scream.

She wasn't the only one.

" _Barbara!"_ Nightwing shouted as he instinctively threw one of his escrima sticks, the short staff flying like spear. With damn near deadly accuracy, the end of the stick collided with the back of the Talon's skull, causing his head to jerk forward.

In the meantime, the vigilante had closed the distance between him and his friend's attacker, using his other escrima stick and slamming it against the side of the Talon's head. The blow was quick and efficient, dropping the Talon down on top of his comrade, leaving them both in a heap of tangled limbs.

Which left Batgirl lying on the ground in a growing puddle of blood. Her face was twisted in pain and Nightwing wasn't even sure she was still conscious. Dropping to his knees, the young man hesitantly pulled aside the redhead's hand and couldn't help the horrified look that appeared on his face.

"Oh God."


	24. The Protege

Cartilage snapped against Batman's fist as he landed a powerful blow to the face of a Talon. The assassin managed to stay on his feet, but was stumbling backwards. Clearly he was dazed.

Then he made a wrong move. Attempting to strike back, the Talon raised a leg and swung a kick at the Dark Knight. Allowing the poor attack to strike his side, Batman let out a grunt as the only sign that he had been affected by the hit. Immediately, he wrapped both arms around the leg and then twisted his body, forcing his foe off the floor as he began to swing him.

That swing ended the moment the assassin collided with two of his brethren, sending all three crashing into a heap on the ground. Continuing his spin, Batman grabbed the inside of his cape and threw it out, forcing it to billow widely. This caused a nearby Talon, sword in hand, to hesitate.

Letting out a roar, Batman launched himself at the assassin, crossing an arm over his chest, which allowed the Talon's sword to slip right between his triangle places, rendering it useless as he swung his arm out to a side. With an arm held high, the vigilante swung it down with all his might, landing his blow right on his opponent's shoulder. A sickening _snap!_ was made, followed by the Talon howling from pain as his shoulder was broken.

If it weren't for the fact that Batman felt winded, he might have admitted he was enjoying himself. It wasn't often he went all out, using every skill he had to his advantage. Well, not every skill considering there were a few that would tax him even if he had been at full strength. Still, in this gallery of assassins, the Dark Knight wasn't pulling his punches.

Neither were the Talons.

A fist slammed into the side of his face, causing his head to snap to a side. He could feel something wet fly from his lips, though whether that was spit or blood was up for debate. Jerking his head back, he saw another fist flying towards him. Reacting, the vigilante shot his hand up and caught the punch, grasping it tightly as he scowled at his attacker.

Making a fist with his free hand, Batman then swung it up and rammed it just above the Talon's elbow, causing the arm to hyper-extend. Due to the force he had used, the bone broke, it's jagged end piercing through skin and leather, causing the assassin to scream in pain.

Shoving the man away, Batman turned to face his next opponent. Unfortunately, two simultaneous blows landed on his shoulders, forcing him to drop to one knee as he let out a surprised cry. Suddenly arms wrapped around his own and Batman found himself being restrained by two Talons. On instinct, he began to thrash, attempting to throw one off balance and free his arm, but it was too no avail.

As if matters couldn't get worse, another Talon emerged from the crowd, a large battle ax in hand. Standing before the Dark Knight, the assassin silently raised the weapon high above his head, holding the pose so that the sight of this man burned into Batman's mind. Had he been anyone else, that would have worked.

In this case, it only served to anger him.

Growling, Batman pushed on the ground as hard as he could with one leg, once again attempting to throw off the men restraining him. For a moment, it seemed as if he had caught them off guard as he rose up, unbending his bent leg so he could stand on it too and assist with his other. Unfortunately, that was as far as he'd go as the two Talons recovered and forced him back down to one knee again.

"You can fight all you like," the Talon with the ax taunted, "but it does not change the fact that you struggle in vain. Come, face the fate that lies before all those who oppose the Court of Owls."

That's when it happened. Batman heard it before he saw it and the sound set him on edge more than any of these Talons ever could. He had heard it far too long again, knew exactly what it represented, and knew that even now was too soon for him to hear it again.

 _BRRRRAAAAAAANG_

A beam of blue light flashed through Batman's vision, colliding with the raised arms of the ax-wielding Talon. Ice formed and spread all over the assassin's arms, covering them from the elbows to the hands, encasing the battle ax as well. As one, the remaining Talons and Batman turned their heads to the source of the blast.

Standing at the entrance to the room was a refrigerated suit, the bald head of Victor Fries staring them all down as he aimed his ice gun at them. "It seems I have arrived in time," the man spoke, his voice distorted by the suit's speaker.

"Intruder!" one Talon shouted before several charged at the chilled criminal. Their efforts were for naught as Fries unleashed another blast from his ice gun, sweeping the beam low and covering the ground and legs in ice. With surprised cries, the charging assassins fell to the ground, grasping their entombed limbs.

Feeling the arms loosening on his own, Batman realized he had an opportunity he could not pass up. Using all of his strength, he twisted his arms up, catching his restrainers off guard. Grabbing them by the front of their shirts, the Dark Knight pulled them down, leaning forward himself. This pulled them right off their feet and sent them falling face-first into the floor.

As he began to stand up, Batman reached to his belt and pulled out a number of bat-shaped shuriken. The moment he reached his full height, he swung his arms out, sending the projectiles flying through the air. Because so many Talons had turned their attention to Fries, that left their backs vulnerable to him. The vigilante watched as his shuriken collided with the back of multiple Talons' heads, knocking them unconscious as they dropped to the floor.

Without hesitating, the vigilante charged towards where he last saw Fries. The constant ringing of the man's ice gun grew louder, flashes of blue light filling the room told him he was getting closer. However, Batman wasn't one to simply let an opportunity slip by. Reaching the back of a Talon, he barreled into them, ramming his shoulder between the assassin's shoulder blades. At the same time, Batman wrapped an arm around the man's thigh and yanked it backwards, throwing his target off balance and sending the two of them to the ground. Landing on top of the Talon, Batman immediately went into a roll, forcing the Talon's head to smash into the floor to make sure he was unconscious. Ending up back on his feet, the Dark Knight continued his charge.

As it turned out, Fries had been making his way towards the vigilante as well. As Batman slammed his elbow into the back of a Talon skull, an ice beam shot right in front of the dark-clad man, hitting another assassin right in the chest, covering it in ice. Jerking his head to a side, Fries was moving his ice gun to a different target.

"What the Hell are you doing here, Fries?" Batman demanded.

Straightening himself out, Fries turned to look at the vigilante. "Lending a hand."

"After committing a prison break?"

A smirk appeared on the bald man's face. "After all this time, no. There is nothing to gain for escaping my rightful prison. I was released to assist in this dark time."

Batman held back his snort. There was no way he could buy someone willingly freeing the man responsible for the Night of Ice. Someone would have to be desperate or idiotic to do so.

Then again, considering what was happening, if one of the Court's targets was at Blackgate, then…

"What brought you here?" he then asked as movement caught his eye. Turning away from Fries, Batman fell into a defensive stance as he eyed the Talons. Behind him, he sensed Fries backing towards him until they stood back-to-back.

"The same that brought you here, I would imagine," Fries responded. "I came across a peculiar card, one that appeared to be altering the mind of those wearing them. I was able to trace the signal here."

"And your suit?"

"Like you, I did not only make one."

The thought of that soured the Dark Knight's mood. After apprehending the so-called Iceman, he had gone to great lengths to make sure he hadn't left anything lying around. It seemed he had failed.

"So what is this to you? I doubt you're on a morality trip."

"Call it...fighting the true evil."

That was in line with Fries' goals. Of course he had to see the Court of Owls as a worthy foe to exact his revenge against. No doubt the scientist had convinced himself that this was another way to redeem his deadly vigilante methods, to clean up Gotham his way.

"No killing, understand that, Iceman?" Batman barked.

"Understood," Fries agreed, seemingly too easily. "However, I do not answer to that moniker anymore."

"That right?"

"Yes—you may call me Mr. Freeze."

"Whatever you say, Freeze. How many do you think you can take on?"

There was a silent moment. "There will be no need to divide our foes. Before me, I see an exit."

Turning his head, Batman looked over Freeze's shoulder and saw what the other man was talking about. On the opposite end of the room from the entrance was indeed an exit. What lay behind its threshold was shrouded in darkness.

"Surely there are more foes," Freeze spoke. "But those will be your concern. I will hold these off here."

"You're kidding," the Dark Knight replied. "Even with your suit, you can't hold that many off."

"Indeed, but I can guarantee that none will follow you."

Though reluctant—not to mention the disbelief clouding his thoughts—Batman found himself nodding. "Alright, we get to—"

Before he could finish, Freeze suddenly charged towards the door, lowering his head as he leaned to a side. Talons were either ran over, or bounced off Freeze's suit as he barreled through them. Seeing the path he made, Batman was quick to follow, keeping up on Freeze's heels. It didn't take too many fallen Talons to realize that they couldn't physically stop the former Iceman, causing them all to part like the Red Sea. Soon enough, they reached the exit.

Well, that was one way to travel.

"Go!" Freeze shouted as he stepped aside, aiming his ice gun back at the Talons. Without stopping, Batman took off through the threshold.

"You will not leave!"

That caused him to pause, Batman whipping around in time to see a number of Talons rushing towards him, framed by the doorway. Damn, it seemed they weren't going to let him go unhindered. Fine, he'd deal with them first and then—

 _BRRRRAAAAAAANG_

Once more, Freeze fired his ice gun, the beam hitting the wall next to the door. Stunned, Batman watched as ice grew from one side of the doorway to the other, sealing hallway off from the chamber. "Freeze!" the vigilante shouted as he jumped towards the ice wall, landing in front of it as he pounded his fist against it.

Damn it, so that's what the former scientist was talking about. In a way it was brave, but it was also completely suicidal. A man who had been rotting in a jail cell for nearly six years wasn't even a challenge to men training for that same length of time, no matter how strong Freeze's suit was.

Damn it all.

Still, there was no other way to go but forward. He could check of Freeze's well-being later, assuming he survived. Turning around, Batman took off running down the hallway, disappearing into its shadows.

* * *

"Do you think this will work?" Robin asked nervously.

"It has to," Nightwing responded tightly.

"I know that, but if it doesn't, we're in some deep trouble."

"Deep how? The two of us thrown in jail for the rest of our lives, or Barbara bleeding out to her death?"

There was a pause. "Well, when you put it that way..."

Nightwing returned his attention to the building across the street. Gotham Mercy was the closest hospital to the basketball court they had been fighting on. Unfortunately, they couldn't stroll in with Batgirl in their arms and demand help.

For Barbara Gordon, however…

It had taken some coordination between him and Robin to get where there were now. Tightly in his arms was Barbara, her costume replaced with a T-shirt and sweat pants. He had cut off her costume and stashed the remains in a dumpster. He'd go back for it when they weren't busy fighting for their lives, so for now that place would do. Robin had gone to the Gordon residence and snatched up the first pieces of clothes he could find. After cutting the shirt up to match the redhead's wounds, the two vigilantes made the rest of their trek to the hospital.

It was now or never.

Pushing off, Nightwing hurried across the street, eyes flickering from side to side as he watched for oncoming traffic. Reaching the curb, he marched towards the front doors, seeing them slide open as he tripped the motion detector. A cool burst of air hit him the moment he entered the building, immediately seeing people in the lobby turning their heads to stare at him.

Ignoring them, Nightwing headed straight to the front desk, where a nurse sat staring at him. "Ma'am, this woman's been hurt," he said urgently. "She needs help now."

The nurse glanced down at Barbara, then back up to the young man and then down. "I think we might have…" she murmured before she shook her head. "Come around, there should be a bed we can put here on."

Relief filled Nightwing as he did as instructed, walking around the desk and moving behind it, following the nurse through a doorway. Beyond it he found another larger desk and a small corridor with doors at even intervals. Most of the doors were closed, but there was one wide open. It was here the nurse was heading to.

Reaching the door, the young man found the nurse fiddling around with some equipment in the room. Eyeing the bed, Nightwing set Barbara down on it, hearing her whimper. "Can you tell me what happened?" the nurse asked.

Before he could answer her, the vigilante caught sight of his uniform. It was stained with blood—Barbara's blood—sticky droplets slowly dripping down his abdomen and onto his legs. There was a metaphor for this somewhere, but the young man wasn't really in the mood to contemplate it at the moment.

Shaking himself from his daze, Nightwing answered, "An assassin attacked her; I got there just as it happened. The assassin used a sword and struck her in the back. I got her away and since this was the closest—"

"Got it." If the nurse said anything after that, Night...no, Dick didn't hear it. He just stared down at Barbara's wounded form before he forced himself to leave the room. Seeing her like that, it...it...Dick couldn't bear it.

Marching through the corridor, he headed back to the front desk, leaping onto it before he took off in a full out run out the doors. The moment he was in open air, he pulled out his borrowed grapple gun and fired it at the building across the street. Hitting the retraction button, he shot up into the air, landing on top of his target seconds later.

"Will she be okay?" he heard Robin ask. Apparently the younger man had decided to watch things from up here than stay in the alleyway.

"Barb is in good hands now," Dick replied, doing his best to keep his growing emotions out of his voice. "It's time for us to get going."

There was a silence before Robin asked in a dazed tone. "A doctor is with her, right? They know what happened and she's getting—"

"Yes!" Dick snapped. "And there's nothing we can do now. It's up to the docs to take care of her. In the meantime, we have people to go help."

"Right, right," the younger vigilante murmured. "So where to?"

* * *

Batman raced up a winding staircase. It had been at the end of the corridor following the Talon chamber and he had been climbing ever since. Like the previous room, this stairwell was composed of stone befitting a castle. Had there been torches instead of the occasional light fixture, he would've thought he was in a different era.

Then, just to mess with him, he reached the top of the stairs and returned to modern Gotham.

He was in what was best described as an empty flat. There were no walls, no furniture, nothing aside from wallpaper, light fixtures, marble flooring, and large windows on the opposite side of the room. The place was brightly lit, so there was a distinct lack of shadows. Though most signs of this room being a living area were missing, that didn't mean it was devoid of all life.

Standing in the middle of the room were two people. The first was of a young girl, potentially teenager. She was small and thin, the ends of her dark hair just barely touching her shoulders, framing a very young face with some oriental features. She was looking right at him, though she hardly reacted to his arrival.

Standing behind the girl was a larger, bulkier, white-haired man. He looked on with great anticipation at the Dark Knight, a twinkle appearing in his eye the moment he saw the vigilante.

"Welcome," the man greeted, his voice steady despite the room's echo amplifying it. "I see you have successfully overcome the Talons."

Batman remained silent, choosing to close the distance between them, only stopping a short distance away. There was something off about this, especially the girl. She didn't seem the least bit intimidated by his presence, which was causing alarms to go off in his head.

"I know you're a man of few words," the white-haired man continued, not the least bit perturbed. "So I will make the necessary introductions. I am David Cain, Master of Arms and Instructor of the Talons you have crossed blades with."

"Trainer," Batman spoke in response. "By that do you mean you're the one behind the mind-controlled assassins?"

Cain's eyes narrowed. "Nonsense," he growled lowly, though it seemed he wasn't addressing the Dark Knight. "I value skill over toys, Batman. The Court's fascination with Dr. Tetch's work is a grail that will slip through the fingers before this night is over."

Hmm, so there was some tension within the Court. The leadership was trampling all over their assassin teacher's toes with the mind control technology; that at least explained why he had been fighting against several assassins with wide gaps between each one in their abilities. Cain obviously preferred tried-and-true methods.

So how did that involve the girl?

Apparently Cain was also a mind-reader as he stated, "You have obviously come to the conclusion of my position in regards to the Court's latest obsession. Naturally you're wondering how this involves the warrior before you." At this he placed a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"This is my greatest student and the future of the Talons. Though untested, her skill is unmatched—superior to any fighter you've ever encountered."

If the situation wasn't serious, Batman would have snorted his derision. There were plenty of deadly martial artists in the world, of that he was sure of—he had been trained by them. No matter how much he gloated, Cain was sheltered by his status in the Court of Owls, blinding him to the rest of the world and its own assassins. He was overestimating his tutelage.

"And what better way to test her mettle than against you?" Cain continued. "I know of your abilities, ones that surpass even seasoned Talons. If ever there was a chance to prove that the old ways were superior to modern technology, this will be it."

Then he leaned down and whispered something into the girl's ear. His voice was too soft for Batman to pick up, and the girl's head was blocking the man's lips, so lip-reading was useless. However, her posture stiffened, the girl's eyes lighting up with determination.

Then Cain stepped back, placing both of his arms behind his back. At the same time, the girl began to stride towards the Dark Knight, her full-body bodysuit clinging to her lithe frame. In response, Batman shifted into a defensive stance, his cape parting in front of his as his arms hid beneath it.

The moment his new opponent was within striking distance, she lashed out with a fist. Reacting, Batman shot out an arm to block to blow.

However, instead of a block, the girl caught his extended arm with her hand. The vigilante was slightly surprised, though that didn't last as his arm was wrenched to a side, throwing his balance off.

Suddenly, the girl swung her other hand, this time landing a powerful blow to the dark-clad man's solar plexus, forcing the air out of his lungs and leaving him gasping as his body bent forward. With the same hand, the girl struck again, her palm slamming into his throat. Batman couldn't fight the gag as he choked, a natural reflex that left him wide open for another palm strike, this one to his chin that sent him stumbling backwards until he collapsed onto the ground.

A ragged cough exploded out of his mouth the moment he landed. He only had time for a second one when the girl was standing over him, a leg raised high. Choking back a third cough, he shot his arms up, just in time to block her foot from stomping on him. The force of the blow sent a jolt throughout his forearm.

Before she could pull her leg back though, Batman's arms were a blur of movement, wrapping around her ankle and foot. With a twist, he hyper-extended the ankle, throwing the girl off balance and sending her falling to the floor.

Unfortunately, she didn't stay down for long. Though she hit the floor hard, she recovered quickly, pushing back up onto her feet in seconds. Taking a deep breath, Batman willed his body back up, a hand going up to his throat to give a brief massage. The moment his fingers touched his neck though, he felt thin grooves in the protective weaving. It took less than a second for him to realize just why they were there.

That palm strike to his throat hadn't been that at all. The girl had dug her fingers in in an attempt to rip out his larynx. Had it not been for his suit, he would be suffocating on blood right now. The only reason for her blow to his chin was because of the failure of the larynx strike. He...he had sorely underestimated this opponent.

No longer.

They were both standing at roughly the same time, the girl initiating the attack again. She sent a jab with her left fist, a strike he dodged. Immediately he saw her second fist flying for his abdomen; this one he caught, her knuckles colliding with his palm. Before he could do anything, the girl was low and directly in front of him. She rammed her elbow into his midsection, making him wince.

Again and again she embedded her elbow into his stomach until Batman lost his grip on her hand. He didn't need his instinct to scream at him that her next strike was coming. Stepping back, he saw a blur fly in front of his face, another palm strike aimed at his chin. Shooting both of his arms up, he batted the appendage aside with one arm, using his other to hammer the bottom of his fist on her head.

At least that's what Batman tried to do. In response to the incoming blow, the girl blocked it with her forearm, her body shifting down from the force. Immediately she shoved his arm aside and jumped backwards, putting a little distance between them.

That made Batman frown. It was obvious that she had the upper hand at the moment, but this hesitation was new. As far as he could tell, he hadn't rattled her, so why pull back when she could have landed another hit?

As she began to circle him, the vigilante following her lead, he shoved those thoughts aside. She was very agile and only sent attacks at vital areas. If he didn't keep up, it was likely this fight wouldn't end too well for him.

* * *

If there was anyone who was unhappy about his decision to release Victor Fries, it would have to be the warden of the prison that held him.

"You've finally lost your mind, haven't you? What possessed you to release that son of a bitch?!" Warden Zorbatos demanded. "You had no authority to let him out of his cell. How did you even get in? Answer me, Gordon!"

Fries was a kind of trophy for this prison, wasn't he? There was no other place in the world that could say he was held there. Made it unique. Special. And letting the prize of the warden's eye out was a grave offense, probably punishable by death if she had her way.

"Extenuating circumstances," was all Gordon told her. Had told her. Had told her many times by now as he didn't believe he had to play ball with her. She didn't when he had come earlier, asking to play nicely. Turnaround was fair play.

"That is a bullshit answer like all the other ones you've given me," Zorbatos spat out as she dogged his every step. He was heading out of the bowels of the prison and searching for some kind of radio, anything really that could let him listen to the police chatter. There was more to this than anyone knew of, but he didn't have the time or patience to explain right now. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than it was for permission.

"Do you have a radio? Anything that can pick up traffic?" he found himself asking, bulldozing over her questions.

"What? Why do you...? What are you pulling here, Gordon?" He must have lost her there. The Commissioner didn't quite blame her, but he wasn't going to waste time stopping and giving her all the full details. Besides, it would be easier to show instead of tell anyway.

"Point me to a radio, preferably one that can let me talk back," he replied. "Any walkie-talkies?"

"Gordon!" the warden gripped.

Zorbatos wasn't going to be much help. Fine, he'd look himself. How long could it take?

A while, it seemed. It was even longer when the warden didn't leave his side, making demands to know what he thought he was doing. It was starting to get on his nerves, made worse only by not finding some kind of transmitting device.

"Shouldn't you be handling security around here?" he asked at last, exasperated by the constant nagging. "You know, in case there's a second attempt?"

"It's being handled," Zorbatos growled back in a deadly tone.

"By who? This is your prison, you should be more concerned about it," Gordon told her with no little irony.

"The fact that you let out one of the most dangerous men here _is_ my concern, and wholly within my jurisdiction. I will have answers."

"Funny, because Gotham is my jurisdiction, and last I checked, Blackgate is in it too. What happens here is also my business and the fact you let several killers get in here to kill me makes me curious about what goes on in here." Gordon spun on his heel as he turned to face her, bringing her up short. "Last I checked, this prison is supposed to be secure, keeping the inmates in and everyone else out. Somebody got in and has made a fool of you; that's someone in the city out there that you claim does not concern you. No, correction, you don't pay attention to anything unless they're fresh meat. If I were you, I think that after all of this, what happens in Gotham is your business. If these assassins could get in, who else can? And what are they bringing in with them? It really makes a person ask how secure this place is."

If looks could kill, there wouldn't be anything left of him. It took everything Gordon had in him to not to a step back from the intensity of that glare. He was not going to bow before Zorbatos, not this time.

"But why should I be worried about any of that?" the Commissioner felt the need to add nonchalantly. "After all, it is _your_ prison and I'm not here to hold _your_ little hand. I should be minding my own business. Speaking of which, I need a radio. If you'll excuse me."

"You don't get to talk to me like that." It was hard to tell if that was an actual growl or not, Gordon couldn't be too sure.

"As a man almost killed in your prison, I think I have a few liberties in this case. Now either get off my back, help me, or do your job. I'll be doing mine, which is protecting Gotham."

He was back on the warpath now, continuing his search for a very valuable radio. It was a good thing that he was paying more attention to his surroundings now that he spotted a guard station. If there was any place to find a radio, this had to be the place. And the door was open. Good, sped things up.

He could see computer monitors, the feeds showing various points of the prison before changing to new images. So this was more than a simple guard station; security was also important here. That definitely meant there had to be a communication device in here, something to allow any guards on duty to contact anybody in the prison.

He scanned countertop after countertop, looking over coffee mugs and keyboards until...there! That looked promising. Someone had left a walkie-talkie behind. What were the emergency frequencies again? Turn the little knob, make an adjustment or two and…

Gordon never thought he'd be so happy to hear chatter again. None of it was good, but he was back into contact with the world outside of Blackgate.

Then, to his irritation, he heard, "What are you up to?"

Zorbatos still wasn't leaving him alone, but now there was less anger in her voice as she was trying to figure out what was going on. He shushed her, hoping that she'd stay quiet long enough while he sorted through all the chatter, waiting for one specific thing.

There was a lot about needing backup, officers were down, and calls of masked assassins, but none of it was what he was looking for. He was a bit disappointed that there was nothing on Batman, yet he was glad there was nothing coming from City Hall. Of course, either it had been hit already and it was too late, or the Talons hadn't gotten there yet.

 _Dispatch—this is crazy—I'm seeing ice on Arthur and Garfield. Like a lot of it, and it doesn't look natural—_

There! Okay, what was on Arthur and Garfield? The corner to be precise. Big time buildings, he remembered that much.

 _There's a lot of it on the Powers Hotel. Do we have any available backup? I think the Iceman is back in town._

Powers Hotel. So Fries had found them out. Good.

"This is Commissioner Gordon," he spoke into the walkie-talkie. "I want every available unit to head to Arthur and Garfield, destination, the Powers Hotel. Suspects are inside, all are considered armed and dangerous, I don't care what they look like. Lethal force is authorized, but try and apprehend as many as you can. This is priority number one, people."

Putting the handheld radio down, he gave the warden a look. "Looks like Victor Fries found the Court the Owls. I'm leaving to handle the situation and I need transportation. Here's your chance to kick me out."

He was treated to a wide-eyed look from Zorbatos, but she quickly got control of herself and replaced her shock with a grimace. "One of the boys will take you to the garage. Let the door hit your ass on the way out." As she turned to leave, she paused and added, "Also, bring back my Iceman."

No more words needed to be said. Frankly, Gordon was eager to get out of here and give some payback to those Owls.

It was time to let those Gilded Age nutjobs know that Gotham didn't belong to them anymore.

* * *

Rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth, Batman smeared blood all over his glove.

This fight with Cain's protege was proving to be very difficult. This teenage girl had countered everything he had thrown at her and more. Not once had she given up the offensive, never allowing him a chance to catch his breath. Even now she was approaching him, continuing to wear down his endurance.

She was good, fantastic even. The vigilante had yet to land a blow on her while she had scored many of her own. She was most likely better than him, something he was reluctant to admit. Seeing her stalk towards him, Batman allowed his cape to envelop his body, hiding him from sight. Enough was enough, no more would he play things her way. Hand-to-hand combat was giving him poor results. Reaching to his belt, he began to pull out a shuriken.

It was then he noticed something. As the cloth of his cape brushed against his moving arm, he noticed the girl's eyes darted to the movement. That gave the vigilante pause. With the way the fight had gone, it was like the girl had been reading his mind, knowing his every move before he made them. Unless she had telepathy, there was something else going on here.

Time to figure out what that was.

Releasing the shuriken back into its pouch, Batman continued to move his arm until he held it straight down. The whole while he watched as his opponent observed his hidden action. Her steps had slowed, a sign of hesitation as she processed what she saw.

Taking advantage of this, Batman closed the distance between them and threw his cape behind him, sending a kick towards her face. In response she blocked the kick, which the dark-clad man withdrew, lashing out with his right fist only. Again she blocked the blow. Over and over, Batman punched with his right, jab, chopping, and back swinging his fist while he kept his left hidden from sight.

And as she continued to block and parry his barrage, she seemed content with this odd strategy, always keeping an eye towards his left hand. It was as if she were anticipating a strike from there.

Why keep her in suspense then?

Turning his body from his profile to face her, he threw his left arm out wide with his hand balled into a fist, the dark-clad man watching as the girl turned her head to follow. Batman fought the smirk working onto his face as he stretched out his fingers, revealing his left to be empty-handed. The girl's eyes widened a second before the Dark Knight slammed his right fist into the side of her face.

Head snapping to a side, the girl stumbled several steps away, a hand going up to her face to cradle her cheek. As she began to recover, Batman was quick to note it was taking her longer than normal to readjust. So, she wasn't used to getting hit by someone with his strength. Then again, she probably hadn't been physically touched in quite some time.

While this was an interesting observation, what he found more significant was the fact this girl relied on reading his body language. No wonder she had been able to neutralized all of his prior attacks—she knew exactly what he was doing before he even moved just from reading how he set his body. It was a common tactic in the martial arts to predict an opponent; however, that could be used against the user as well.

Once more Batman allowed his cape to cover his body, this time using his right hand to pull out a smoke pellet from his belt, making sure to brush his arm against the cloth. The moment the girl put eyes on him, she focused right where she saw the cape ruffle.

Striding towards her, Batman held his right hand back as he launched another assault with his left. On the first punch, the girl blocked and darted towards his torso. Recognizing what she was about to do, the Dark Knight quickly brought his left arm back, just barely knocking away her own jab at his solar plexus. Twisting his body to a side, Batman threw his right hand out wide behind him.

And just as expected, the girl followed the move with her eyes, but then returned them right to the vigilante. She recognized what he was doing and was predicting he would do the same he had done with his left hand previously.

Jumping away from her even as she began to press her offensive, Batman threw his smoke pellet down at her feet, a cloud of smoke exploding and enveloping her. Just before she disappeared in the smoke, the dark-clad man saw her eyes widened with surprise.

The moment he landed on the floor, Batman leapt towards the smoke cloud, leading with a knee bent and extended out in front of him. A second later he felt his knee ram into the girl, the vigilante predicting from his opponent's height and his current placement in the air that he had hit her right in the face.

Vision becoming nonexistent due to the smoke, it returned the moment he burst out the backside of the cloud, feet touching down on the floor as he noticed the girl lying a short distance away on her back. Batman slowed himself to a stop, keeping his eyes trained on his foe, who wasn't making a move to get back up. It was odd, there was no way she should be laying that way; kneeing her face should not have knocked her out unless she hit the back of her head too hard on the ground. Perhaps she was playing possum?

When her body began to stir, the vigilante threw that thought away. Slowly, she pushed herself back onto her feet. Rushing towards her, Batman dropped low, leaning towards his side as he began to slide feet first across the floor due to his momentum. Lashing out with his legs, he entangled them with his opponent's, throwing the girl off balance as she crashed back onto the ground.

In a flurry of movement, Batman forced her onto her stomach, pinning both of her arms to her back as he held both of her thin wrists with one hand. With his other hand, the dark-clad man grabbed the back of her head and pulled it back, ready to slam it on the floor. There was only one thing stopping him from doing this though.

Clapping.

Freezing, Batman made sure his hold on the girl was steady before he turned his head to look over his shoulder. There stood Cain, his hands repeatedly clapping. "Well done," he congratulated the Dark Knight. "It seems I have underestimated you yet again, Batman."

The moment those words came out, the girl went limp beneath him, confusing the vigilante. If he wasn't mistaken, it was almost as if the girl were giving up, ending their match then and there. As if to confirm this, Cain said, "You can finish any time. Bestow the honor fitting of a fallen warrior."

Batman scowled. No, there was no way he was killing a beaten foe—there was no honor to be found there. Roughly, he released the girl, standing up and taking a step away from her. In turn, this caused Cain to frown. "Why don't you finish it? Do you wish to shame such a capable opponent?"

"I won't kill just because you want me too," Batman spat. " _Her_ life may mean little to you, but it is not a weakness to value life."

By now, he heard the girl shifting behind him, turning over to lay on her side, propping herself up with an arm to watch the two men. Cain's face had gone blank, losing all sense of emotion. "That's a shame," he lamented in a cold tone. "Then if you will not grant my pupil her rightful honor, then I will do it for you."

The white-haired man was like a blur, a knife appearing in his hand before he sent it flying, its tip aimed right for the girl. The girl was paralyzed where she lay, staring at the approaching blade emotionlessly.

Reacting, Batman lunged for the knife, reaching out with his hand. It was traveling too fast for him to intercept it by moving long before it reached the girl, so he was forced to move towards her. As the knife passed him, he stretched his arm out as far as he could, his fingers wrapping around the dagger's hilt and stopping it.

Batman grunted from the exertion, wincing as he felt a sharp discomfort in his chest. It seemed he had stressed his body too much. Shifting his focus to the girl, he saw the knife's tip was literally an inch from her face, hovering there as she nearly went cross-eyed from staring at it.

Growling, Batman jerked his head around, only to see a silhouette of Cain disappearing into a nearby doorway, a set of stairs visible through the threshold. Anger erupted on the vigilante's face as he threw the knife away, hearing it bounce and clatter on the floor. Taking a look at the girl, he saw the same blank stare, whether it was from acceptance of her fate or numbness at being discarded was unknown to him.

Reaching out, he grasped her shoulder and shook it, causing her to jump slightly. "Are you okay?" he asked her. Her response was the same look, though her eyes were focused on him now. Waiting for a moment, it soon became apparent she wasn't going to reply to him. Dropping his hand, Batman stood up straight before he turned and headed for the doorway. Stopping before it, he gave one last look at the girl, seeing her staring at his back. For a moment he strongly considered leaving her there, but something within him demanded that he at least pay some respect, as one adept fighter to another. Facing her, he raised his arms, balling one hand into a fist and pressing it into the palm of his other hand. Bowing his head for a second to complete his offering of respect, he then turned and moved through the doorway.

* * *

I'm sure many of you have recognized who Cain's protege is, so I'll make this quick. The larynx strike that she uses on Batman is one that's used repeatedly by her in the No Man's Land comics. David Cain taught it to her and Bruce before her, so considering its significance of the move to all these characters, I thought it was fitting to put into this chapter.


	25. The Inner Sanctum

It was a long night for them. Running through the halls of City Hall, trying to stay one step ahead of the Talon that was always hot on their heels, doing their bests not to get killed— it was tough work for Harvey Dent and the nameless man who was conspicuously armed.

Not that that did anything to make the pursuing Talon hesitate. This assassin was not letting a few bullets stop him from killing the two of them, most likely in the most painful way imaginable. The physical condition of this man allowed him to continue the chase as well as preventing the two of them from leaving the building.

In the end, they had been herded—that's right, herded—back towards where this all started, the same hallway where his office was located.

Something was going to give and Harvey was afraid it was going to be them.

"How many shots have you got left?" he panted out.

"Not...enough," the man beside him wheezed.

Not a good answer there. Okay, since running and trying to pull off a shot on the killer that was on their heels wasn't working, a change in strategy was needed. _Think, Harvey, think. Think quickly before you ended up in an obituary. Think...there!_

Grabbing, the man beside him by his coat, the District Attorney changed their direction towards the upcoming restroom, kicking the door open as he dragged his companion behind him. His feet skidded against the tiled floor as he tried to come to a stop while making sure the other man didn't trip himself over his own feet. Apparently, the janitor had mopped the floor earlier, leaving the surface slicker than normal.

"The door! He's going to come in any moment," Harvey nearly yelled at the armed man. "When he does, take him down!"

The man blinked at him for a moment before the lawyer's plan dawned on him. Turning towards the door, he raised his gun up and waited for his moment. Harvey kept his eyes on the doorway as well, wanting to make sure that the Talon did not leave his sight once he entered. He needed to be sure this bastard was taken down.

After the night he had been having, some kind of closure was needed.

He almost missed it, but he noticed that the door to the restroom cracked opened. The Talon was going to be careful entering; it wasn't a bad idea, but the only way to get to them was through that doorway. If the man beside him was a good shot, there was no way he was going to get in here without some kind of injury.

Something flew up into the air, tossed into the restroom from beyond the door. It was small, Harvey was able to see that much, and soon enough he was unable to see much after that as whatever it was began to flash. There was a loud crackling sound that went with it, though the District Attorney was more concerned with the fact that he was having a hard time seeing.

There was a gunshot, something shoved into him and he fell back, landing on his ass which sent a shock up his spine. Then something wet slapped up against him as a loud yell of pain replaced the crackling noise. As his eyes began to adjust, his gaze was drawn to blood that now was splattered on him.

From there Harvey landed on the dying man that had been his only friend through this ordeal, his stomach sliced open and...and...oh God…

He pushed himself up and away, his back coming up against the side of a bathroom stall. Harvey was breathing quickly and shallow, almost hyperventilating. He looked up from the near-deceased and found the Talon, the assassin holding that long dagger of his which was now stained with blood. He knew full well that the Talon intended to add his blood to that weapon.

"No more running, Harvey. It's over," the Talon almost taunted.

Harvey could feel the blood pulsing through his blood vessels, fear and anxiety paralyzed him in the face of his certain death, and...and...a...nd…

Harvey's body relaxed, his breathing evening out, and his eyes gave a very dead look at his soon-to-be killer. With a strained voice, he spoke, "There's just one problem…"

"Oh?" The Talon seemed to be in a talkative mood, even as he took a step closer to his target.

"You're talking to the wrong Harvey."

The voice that left Harvey Dent's body was not the smooth, jovial voice that most people knew. It was deep, almost rough, throaty even. The dead look in his eyes were replaced with fiery anger, not a sign of fear or terror within them.

For a second, the Talon hesitated at the unexpected development, giving Harvey the chance he needed to strike. With almost unnatural strength, he griped the wrist of the hand holding the dagger and twisted it to aside, the lawyer raising his other hand into a fist which decked the masked assassin.

"You want to kill me?!" the possessed Harvey Dent roared. Grabbing the stunned Talon by the front of his outfit, he picked him up off his feet. "You're going to need to do better than a cheap Halloween costume!"

He rushed forward, slamming the owl-themed assassin into the bathroom mirrors, the glass cracking behind the dark-clad body. The Talon kicked Harvey away with his powerful legs, causing him to be dropped onto the sink underneath him. From there he slipped off the porcelain fixture and almost lost his foot against the slick, tiled floor.

Harvey Dent was on him in an instant, letting out an animalistic growl as he slammed the Talon's head against the sink once, twice, then picking him off the floor to smash him down onto the sink, breaking it off. As water gushed out from the pipes, Harvey threw his assailant away from him, the Talon sliding against the floor before coming to a stop next to the dead man he had murdered only moments ago.

"You can try to kill that goody-two-shoes," Harvey growled out as he picked up the broken sink and marched his way over, "but you aren't killing me, you son of a bitch!"

The Talon was helpless, dazed from the unexpected assault. Placing his knee on the Talon's chest, Harvey Dent raised his porcelain weapon above his head, then brought down on his victim's masked head. He didn't stop with one as he raised the sink up again, then brought it down once more. Then again. And again. And again. Blow after blow. He didn't stop even as the Talon's head began to cave in with a sharp crunch.

He did stop when a spurt of blood splattered into his eyes. Only then did he drop the blood-stained sink and pull away, wiping at his eyes. As he lowered his hands, Harvey blinked almost dazily, lost to what was going on. The last thing he remembered, he had been at the mercy of a trained assassin who was...where was he? Where...oh. Oh. Oh God.

Harvey recoiled from the scene, appalled at what laid before him. He...had he done that? But...when? How? He couldn't...remember. He didn't remember. What had…

Had…

Had it happened...again?

 _Oh, oh Harvey… What had you done_ this _time?_

* * *

As Batman reached the top of the stairs, he soon found himself in what was best described as a command center. There were computer banks lining the wall on one side of the room. A catwalk encircled the room, hanging over head for a purpose unknown to the vigilante. Oddly enough, there were a couple of round wooden tables, a potted plant on each that looked out of place in such a chamber.

Ignoring the windows he saw, a balcony visible through the glass, Batman soon spotted Cain, the man's back to him. The black bodysuit he had been wearing was gone, replaced by a grey cloak. Cain had his arms inside of a metal footlocker, rummaging inside of it as he seemed most preoccupied with it.

Without even turning around, the white-haired man greeted, "Welcome to the Inner Sanctum, Batman. It's not much, but this is where I call home."

"You're finished, Cain," the Dark Knight growled. Eyes darting to the computers, he fully suspected this was where the frequency for the mind control chips was coming from. "I'm taking you in."

"I believe we should agree to disagree on that point," the man quipped as he straightened out his posture, slowly turning around to face the vigilante. Batman couldn't help but feel something familiar about Cain's outfit. The lighting was different, but he was sure he had seen it from somewhere. Seeing his preoccupation, Cain spoke, "I suppose you've realized this isn't the first time we've met."

Batman narrowed his eyes, returning his sights to the man's face. Staying silent, he watched as Cain then raised something with his hands, slipping it over his head and making sure it fitted comfortably. Instantly, the dark-clad man recognized who he was looking at.

Owlman.

"You proved to be more resilient than expected," Owlman continued. "An oversight that will not be repeated. When this is over, my blade will drain the blood out of your body to make sure you die."

"As I recall, you were the one that lamented at not having a proper fight," Batman retorted.

A faint smile appeared on the masked man's face. "I do believe you're right. Then let us engage in this inevitable collision."

Fine, if that was the way it was going to be, then so be it. Pulling a couple shuriken from his belt, Batman sent them flying at his foe, Owlman diving into a roll to dodge them as the projectiles pierced the wall where they hit. The moment he had his feet under him, the grey-clad villain launched himself towards Batman, a dagger in each hand.

Shifting into a defensive stance, the Dark Knight bided his time and immediately began to block the knife strikes once Owlman was within range. Catching the knifes with his triangle blade, his arms were a blur as he moved them up, down, side to side, and all over, Owlman repeated stabbing and slicing at him with his weapons, always aiming for body shots. Clanging echoed throughout the room as steel clashed against metal.

Tiring of the pattern, Owlman changed tactics, slicing one of his blades at the vigilante's head. Instead of blocking, Batman ducked the strike, darting closer to his foe and ramming an extended elbow into his abdomen. Flinching back a step, Owlman then back-swiped the same knife, bring it down at an angle.

In response, Batman blocked the attack, his forearm colliding with Owlman's. Quickly, the vigilante used the same arm to snake around his opponent's extended one, locking it in place so he could slam his fist over and over into the grey-clad man's kidney. Each blow elicited a grunt from Owlman until he had enough.

Kicking a leg out, Owlman's foot collided with Batman's calf, knocking the leg out and throwing him off balance. Releasing his hold, Batman leaned to one side and pivoted on his ground-bound foot, twisting himself so that he kept his foe right in front of him while he brought his other foot down. This allowed him to see Owlman aim a thrust right for his face, one he defended by shooting both of his arms up and grabbing the man's arm at the wrist with his hands. Throwing it to a side, Batman was quick to block the next knife strike with his triangle blade once more.

A second later and Owlman tried another cut with his free dagger, receiving the same result. However, before Batman could retaliate, the grey-clad man leaned backwards and brought his leg up, delivering a vicious snap kick to his abdomen that forced him to back off a couple steps.

"Surely you can do better than this," Owlman spoke, charging in again. Growling in response, Batman waited until the last moment before he dropped down to crouch on the ground, extending a leg out to a side, he then swung it in front of him, kicking out Owlman's feet from beneath him.

His opponent was quick to recover, however, as he went into a roll the moment his back touched the floor, ending up back on his feet. Yet, the Dark Knight wasn't finished as he dashed in, ramming his shoulder into his foe's chest as he lashed out with his arms. With one arm pressing just above the elbow and the other wrapping atop Owlman's forearm, Batman hyperextended the arm, no doubt sending a burning pain through the man. A spasm in his hand caused him to drop the knife in his hand, the weapon clanging upon landing on the floor.

Releasing his hold, Batman twisted around until his back was pressed against Owlman's chest, his foot kicking the dagger away as he did so. With his left arm, he shot it up, bending it so that his elbow collided with his opponent's raised arm, preventing it from attacking. With his right, Batman moved it up before he rammed it right into Owlman's abdomen, causing the man to gasp as the air in his lungs was forced out him, his body bending forward.

Snapping his hand up, the backside of his hand smashed into Owlman's unguarded face, his opponent stumbling back a step form the unexpected blow. Pivoting on his foot, Batman spun around and leapt into the air, swinging a kick that knocked his foe's last knife out of his hand and sent the blade flying through the air until it embedded itself in a wall. Landing, Batman continued to spin as he used the same leg to deliver a kick right into Owlman's side.

Though he landed the hit, the next thing he knew his foe had wrapped his arms around the Dark Knight's leg, pinning the appendage to his side. "Better," Owlman complimented him, "but it was only a waste of time."

With the speed of a serpent, Owlman raised an arm up and swung it down, hammering the bottom of his fist right on Batman's thigh. A searing sensation raged through his leg, causing Batman to hiss as he realized his opponent had hit his sciatic nerve.

Releasing the leg, Owlman closed the distance between, slamming his other fist into the vigilante's solar plexus, knocking him back a step. With his other hand, Owlman thrust it at his throat, the thumb, index, and middle fingers forming a talon-like strike as the ring and pinkie fingers curled into the palm. An image flashed before Batman's eyes as he saw Cain's protege performing the same move—if not the same strike combination—not too long ago.

Shooting an arm up, he blocked the attack, only to receive a fist to his stomach as a reward. Air knocked out of his lungs, he was helpless as Owlman moved in, raining blow after blow against his abdomen before finishing the barrage off with a palm strike to his chin. The force of the hit lifted the Dark Knight off his feet and sent him crashing to the floor.

Lying on the ground, Batman sucked in as much air as he could. That was the second time he'd been hit like that within the hour and it was obvious which opponent's hit was more powerful. The student was still learning from the master, it would seem. However, if he recalled his previous fight, that meant…

That was when Owlman appeared over him. Already the vigilante could sense his opponent was about to raised a leg up to stomp on him, much like his protege had done. Flinging his legs up, Batman rolled from his back and over his shoulders until he was crouched on his feet, looking up—

—in time for the bottom of Owlman's foot to slam right into his face.

Letting out a cry, Batman dropped back onto his back, pain throbbing throughout his cheeks and lips. His chest was on fire as well, alerting him to his old knife wound that had yet to completely heal. That didn't stop him from hearing the disappointed sigh from his foe, though.

"I had expected better," Owlman lamented. "After our first meeting in the sewers, you showed such promise. It seems your reputation far exceeds your reality."

"Sorry to disappoint," Batman grunted back as he maneuvered himself back onto his feet, remaining crouched. Eyeing his opponent, he noticed the grey-clad man had a hand at his belt, obviously removing…

Eyes widening, Batman dove to a side the moment Owlman swung his arm out. Three hilt-less knives flew right by where the vigilante had been kneeling, stabbing into the floor one after the other. Going into a roll, the Dark Knight was back on his feet in time to see his foe charging, drawing a leg back to kick him again.

Movement occurred in the corner of his eye. Jerking his head, Batman ended up following a flying dagger that forced Owlman to skid to a stop one one leg as he leaned back as far as he could. Because of this, the weapon raced between the two men, stopping them from continuing their fight. Following the knife, Batman saw it embed itself in the floor, the hilt wobbling. Surprised, both men turned their heads in look in the same direction.

Crouched on the railing of the catwalk was Cain's protege, her cold eyes locked onto Owlman.

The grey-clad man merely frowned at her presence. "What are you doing here?" he asked unconcerned, his tone covering up any astonishment.

Seeing his foe distracted, Batman took advantage of this and charged, swinging a vicious uppercut that landed against Owlman's cheek. Head jerking away, Owlman stumbled as Batman fired off a barrage of punches, beating the man over and over.

That wasn't to last, unfortunately, as Owlman suddenly blocked a punch, and then another. In an instant he regained the upper hand, he caught one of the vigilante's fists with his hand. "Better," he commended before he began to unleash his counteroffensive.

One, it seemed, he never got the chance to do. Sometime during Batman's onslaught, the girl had jumped down from her perch and had been watching for an opening. It seemed that opening had appeared as she came rushing in, throwing a punch to Owlman's solar plexus. Catching her movement at the last second, Owlman twisted his body and caught the fist as well.

Seeing his attention diverted again, Batman struck, kicking the back of his opponent's knee, causing him to cry out as his leg buckled and he dropped to the floor on one knee. This also had the added benefit of Owlman releasing his hold on the dark-clad man's hand.

That was when the girl attacked again, going for the larynx as she and Owlman had shown to be their go-to move. For a moment, Batman froze, eyes widening as he realized he was about to see this girl kill a man.

However, it seemed Owlman had other thoughts. Unexpectedly, he flung his head forward the moment he saw the strike coming. As his chin ducked down to guard his throat, the crown of his head bore the brunt of the girl's strike, her fingers bouncing off the mask as her face twisted with pain.

Owlman surged upward then, grabbing his protege by her wrist with one hand and her bodysuit with the other. Twisting his body, he hauled the girl up and sent her flying towards Batman, who was forced to catch her. That left him wide open for the grey-clad man to leap into the air and slam the bottom of his foot against his face, sending the two crashing to the floor.

As Batman found himself grunting from the landing, the girl in his arms shot up onto her feet and lashed out at Owlman. Punch after punch, kick after kick, she threw everything she had, her opponent merely defending himself as he blocked and dodged the blows. The grey-clad man gave up ground as he backed away, the girl continuing to press her assault, something that caught Batman's attention. The further away he moved, the more distance Owlman put between himself and one of his opponents—in this case, Batman. That was one way to handle a two-on-one fight.

Finally, Owlman countered his assailant. Blocking a blow aimed for his stomach, he lashed out with a fist, landing it against the girl's face and knocking her back a couple steps. Pressing his advantage, Owlman lunged at her, bending his extended arm and ramming his elbow against the side of her head. Grabbing the back of her head with his hand then, he held her still as he kicked a leg up, his knee embedding itself into her stomach. A gasp left the girl's lips before she was allowed to drop to the ground.

"Perhaps I underestimated the Batman," Owlman spoke out loud to himself. "You're moving much slower than usual. You're normally a more difficult match than this." Reaching beneath his cape, the sound of metal scraping against leather was made and he pulled out what was either a long dagger, or a short sword.

Batman's knife wound began to ache at the mere sight of the blade. The memory of it sliding through his body overwhelmed his senses, bile threatening to work its way up his throat. It didn't take much to know just where the grey-clad man intended to put the edge of that weapon.

Flipping the blade around in his hand, Owlman held it high as he knelt down next to the girl, the tip pointed down towards his victim. Meanwhile, Batman was back on his feet, a bat-shaped shuriken in his hand. Simultaneously he sent the projectile flying as he raced towards the man.

Those movements diverted Owlman's attention. Jerking his head up, he then swung his blade down, not at the girl but the shuriken, parrying it away. A second later it was Batman's turn to slam his foot in his foe's face, Owlman's head snapping backwards as his grip on the knife weakened and slipped. Batman was faintly aware of the dagger clattering on the floor next to the girl, who merely looked up towards it as the vigilante flew over her.

Letting out a war cry, Baman lowered his shoulder and rammed into his opponent, arms wrapping around his body as he tackled the man to the floor. The moment he hit the ground, Owlman shoved the vigilante off of him, rolling on top of the dark-clad man in turn. Not one to give that positioning to a foe, Batman did the same, the two men ending up rolling on top of each other over and over as they fought for an advantage. It wasn't until Batman finally broke the cycle and pushed the grey-clad man off of him and opting to scramble back onto his feet that they stopped.

By the time the vigilante was up, so was Owlman. Like two magnets they engaged each other, lashing their arms out. Each fighter sent a fist flying at the other's face, only for the other to catch the blow. Holding the balled up hands tightly, neither was willing to relinquish their hold leaving them to push their legs against the floor hard as they tried to overpower the other. Their teeth were fared, making them look like ferocious animals. Neither one was willing to give up overpowering the other, defiant to give in to the growing strain in their arms and legs. If they had forever, they would have stayed that way.

As it turned out, Owlman was the one to give in to their stalemate, though not by anything that Batman did. It was as sudden as it was shocking as a blade exploded out of Owlman's chest, splattering blood over Batman's dark suit. A stunned look appeared over the grey-clad man's face before he dropped to a knee, a trickle of blood dripping down his chin from his mouth.

And right behind the man stood the girl, her hand on the handle of Owlman's large dagger. Batman felt a sense of deja vu, only it was him being stabbed in the back by the man currently kneeling on the floor. Releasing her grip on the weapon, the girl moved around her victim, coming to stand a short distance away facing Owlman's side.

Stepping back himself, Batman looked down at his bleeding opponent, who slowly raised a hand and grabbed his mask. Yanking it off, Cain's face emerged, his daze still evident. Then he looked towards the girl, pride radiating from him. "That was perfect. Absolutely...perfect..."

The girl stared unmoved by her master's words.

Cain's breaths were beginning to pick up, becoming louder as he panted. Damn it, no, there was no way Batman would let him die, not when there was a crisis still at hand. Closing the distance between them, the vigilante placed a hand on the white-haired man's shoulder.

As he began to kneel, the dark-clad man spoke, "Don't speak and waste your strength. We can fix this."

Cain looked amused by this. "Compassion towards an enemy—your refusal to kill astounds me." A ragged cough escaped his lips, droplets of blood flying out. "Unfortunately for you, we are still enemies. For that, I cannot be taken alive. I must complete one final duty to the Court of Owls."

If Cain thought he was going to get away with ritual suicide, he had another thing coming. That was the only thing Batman could think of that would explain the white-haired man's sudden change in attitude. Already his eyes were looking to Cain's hands for any movement.

As it turned out, he was looking in the wrong place. "Computer, activate self-destruct sequence. Password," at this his eyes flickered to the girl, "Cassandra."

Immediately, screens above the computer database flashed red before the number 5 appeared on them. The moment they dropped to 4, Batman knew he was too late.

Shooting up to his feet, the vigilante rushed to the girl and picked her up. _3._ He could see the windows and the balcony were closed by and made a beeline right for them. _2._

Despite this, the girl didn't react in his arms. She didn't brace herself against him, nor did she make things easier for him as she seemed to hang limply in his arms. _1._ If she had done anything, they would have just made it to the windows.

Unfortunately, that still wouldn't have been enough.

Explosions erupted behind them, the force of the blast ramming into Batman's back, lifting him right off the floor. A scream rang out from the dark-clad man a moment before the flames washed over him and the girl.

* * *

To John: Sorry you feel that way, but we'll have to disagree. Cassandra can and has done damage to Batman, even to the point of having her blows having a delayed effect on him. You also have to consider in this story, Batman isn't at 100%. He's still recovering from a knife wound in the chest and a collapsed lung, he's just spent a good portion of the night running through Gotham, not to mention having just removed himself from a room full of trained assassins. He's tired at this point. Plus, Cassandra's going for structurally weak points that no amount of body armor is going to protect. Take her three-hit combo to start the fight, for instance. She hits Batman first right next to his chest wound, then the throat with its windpipe and blood vessels, and lastly the chin, which is exposed in Batman's batsuit. That's three weak points right there to start.


	26. Redemption

The chamber was cold. This was due to the amount of ice contained within its walls. The assassins known as Talons were restrained with this ice, various body parts entombed, from arms and legs to torsos. It was different for each man or woman, but then Mr. Freeze was not concerned with uniformity.

Seated on a large block of ice, the man rested, his eyes closed behind the red glass of his glasses. His ice gun was sitting on his lap, his arms crossed over his chest. There was no concern that someone would approach him and retrieve his weapon because there was no one left to contest his supremacy.

That just left him with one thing to do.

Sounds began to emanate from the entrance ahead, causing the bald man to open his eyes. He stared at the doorway, hearing the noises grow louder and louder. They were most certainly policemen, possibly SWAT. They would arriving any second now.

As predicted, men in black SWAT armor rushed into the room, their semi-automatic weapons clutched in their hands. Each man slowed to a stop at the sight of the ice, the entombed assassins within them. "Dear sweet Jesus, what happened here…" one of the men trailed off.

"I happened," Freeze answered simply.

That made the SWAT team jump in their boots, their weapons immediately trained on him. It was a reaction that he had anticipated, thus the reason why he did not hold his ice gun. "Freeze, scumbag," one of them demanded as he stepped closer to him.

"I mean you no harm," the bald man said.

"Oh, right, like I can believe that, Iceman," the same officer retorted. "I don't know how you escaped Blackgate, but you're coming with us."

Freeze ignored the officer. He had expected such a chilly reception, so there was no need to antagonize these men. "How do you wish to dispose of my ice gun?" he asked calmly.

"By not moving a fucking finger," the officer barked. "Ramirez, secure the suspect's gun."

The officer known as Ramirez followed the order immediately. Keeping his gun trained on Freeze, he approached him until he stood right next to the refrigerated man. Letting go of his gun with one hand, Ramirez reached to the ice gun slowly, his eyes focused completely on Freeze. Keeping still, the bald man watched this until the officer suddenly snatched the weapon from his lap and quickly retreated.

"Good, that wasn't so bad," the leading officer spoke. He then reached to his belt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Now, let's try these."

"You have no need for those," Freeze informed him. "I surrender myself willingly as per the agreement with your commissioner."

The leading officer snorted. "You made a deal with Gordon? I find that to be a load of bull."

"Call him with your radio if you must. You will find no resistance from me."

"No, no way, man. You aren't the one calling the shots here."

There was a pause before Ramirez spoke, "Ya know, it wouldn't hurt to ask."

The leader turned his head and glared at his man. "You're agreeing with this freak? Who's side are you on?"

This had gone on far enough. Standing up, Freeze earned every policeman's attention, the barrels of their guns jumping as they readjusted their grips. "Seat your ass back down," the leader demanded.

"You seem to believe that you are in control here," Freeze remarked. "Allow me to explain the situation: the refrigerated suit I wear is bulletproof. You and your men will shoot me until you are all out of bullets and not a one will harm me. If I wished it, I could break your entire body and leave you to die with these Talons, as they are called. But I will not do that. One way or another, I will return to custody, be it in your company, or without. The choice is yours."

Before any of the policemen could respond, a violent tremor suddenly shook the room, causing them all to use the semi-ice sculptures to balance themselves. Instantly, the leader scowled right at him. "What the Hell did you do?"

Freeze was losing his patience. Where he expected and even accepted the initial distrust, the fact these men were looking to blame him for anything was irritating. "I do not know what caused that," he answered stoically. Looking up to the ceiling, he added, "It seems to have come from above us."

"No shit, Sherlock. I want to know what it was that did it and how you made it."

Freeze...ignored him. "That's where the Batman is," he murmured to himself.

What was going on up there?

* * *

In the middle of an empty intersection, Huntress swung her bo staff in front of her, using it to block one of the two swords her opponent was wielding. Forcing one end forward and then the other, she stopped the Talon's blades from slicing and dicing her as he continuously struck at her.

Some time after she had left Thorne's place, she had gotten herself into trouble—namely she kept running into these assassin guys. Some had blood on them, indicated they had killed one of their targets while others looked as if they picked up their cheesy black uniforms from the laundromat. The one in front of her happened to be one of the former, something that angered her to no end.

Unfortunately, she was getting the feeling this guy was one of those trained Talons considering he had been countering everything she had thrown at him. Now that she was depended on her bo staff to defend herself, she felt that if she didn't at least attempt to attack, she'd never get the chance.

So she forced the issue. Blocking yet another sword strike, Huntress jumped backwards, putting a small distance between her and the Talon. As expected, the assassin charged at her, not wanting to give her the chance to breath much less attack. Refusing to let him continue his attack, Huntress turned to a side and jabbed the end of her staff at the charging killer. Because he had rushed so fast, he was unable to so much as dodge as the bo staff collided with his face, snapping his head backwards.

Taking advantage of his new development, the purple-clad vigilante drew back her staff, shifting her grip on it off-center until it was closer to one end. Arcing her staff up high, she then swung it down as she knelt to the ground, angling the weapon at the last moment to sweep the legs right out from under the Talon.

The Talon did just as she planned, dropping to the ground hard on his back. However, before she could continue her attack, the assassin immediately rolled feet over head until he was back up on his feet.

 _Oh c'mon! Give me a freaking break!_ she seethed in her head. Here she was, finally making some headway on this guy and what does he do? Be an asshole and make sure she can't knock him out. To his credit, he seemed to be holding back, staying where he stood rather than launch another attack.

For that Huntress was thankful. She was already breathing hard, not from this guy mind you, but from all she had done tonight. She was tired, sore, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and have a nice soak in her bathtub. This pause in the fight was...acceptable...for now. She'd catch her breath then try again—

Suddenly, a loud _BOOM!_ rang out. Had she been younger and a hell of a lot more green, Huntress would have immediately looked to see what had exploded. As it was, she knew whatever blew up wasn't where she was, otherwise she'd be in a giant fireball at the moment. She was content to know that, so she kept her eyes focused on the Talon. He was probably waiting for her to divert her attention so he could attack too, the...the…

Was it just her or was this guy not looking at her?

The longer she stared, the more Huntress became certain the Talon wasn't looking at her. Frowning, she chanced a glance to her side in the same direction the assassin seemed to be interested in. She had to do a freaking double look too when she realized what was so captivating.

Because the road sloped downwards further down the street, this afford Huntress a prime vantage sight. Right in the middle of downtown, the top of one of the skyscrapers had blown up, replaced by a cloud of fire that sat on the building like a hat. And it was getting bigger.

 _Holy Hell, what the fuck is going on over there?_

* * *

Nightwing and Robin stood at the edge of roof, staring out into the skyline of the city. Several blocks in front of them, the two young men could see the top of a tall building explode, the giant fireball reaching out in all directions as if it were the top of a fiery mushroom. It was spectacular to behold.

The blast had been sudden too. Figuring traveling by rooftop would give them an easier time of tracking down the other Talons roaming the city, the vigilantes had been racing each other on the roofs, leaping over alleyways when they came to them, and using their grapple hooks to scale the taller buildings. That's when a deafening explosion rang out and they came to a skidding stop.

"So, how much do you want to bet that's where Batman is?" Robin asked, his eyes transfixed on the sight.

"No bet," Nightwing grunted back. "That's where he's got to be."

A silence. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If what you're thinking involves us going in to bail his big, bat butt out, then yeah, we're on the same page."

Again, another silence. "First one there's a rotten egg?"

Nightwing finally tore his eyes from the fiery spectacle and gave the younger vigilante a dubious look. "Seriously? You want to race over there using a playground insult as motivation? After everything that's happened?"

"Well, it's either the insult or we could both do our best Batman impersonations, though I think we'd be pushing the gloom factor together."

"...rotten egg it is, then. You're on."

Simultaneously, they pulled out their grapple guns and fired them across the street. The moment they felt the lines go taut, they leaped off the building they stood up, swinging into the night air as they raced towards the exploding building.

* * *

The world was spinning, the wind screeching all around him, buffeting against his body. Over and over, the ground changed to sky and back. This distracted from the feeling of falling that Batman was sure was there.

His body was completely out of his control. With his senses disoriented, it made it that much more difficult to slow his descent. To combat this, he stretched his arms and legs out as far as he could, trying to create as much air resistance as he could. He wasn't sure if it was working, but it provided a slight comfort.

Twisting his body against the spinning, the world around him began to slow. _C'mon, stop spinning!_ his mind roared. _Stop, stop, stop!_

As he began a downward arch, he was given a great view of the city streets. It was hard not to notice the red-and-blue flashing lights of squad far below. His view changed to the side of the Powers building, his head pointed straight down to the ground. Bearing his teeth, he willed his body to go against the spin, kicking his legs forward and leaned his back as far back as he could.

And it worked. With his back facing the ground, head towards the building, he finally stopped the spin. And high above him was an enormous fireball reaching as far as it could throughout the sky. It was like Hell was erupting from above.

However—his introspection notwithstanding—he felt something was wrong. It was as if there should be someone else with...him…

The girl!

Batman's head jerked left and right, eyes searching frantically for the girl. She was clearly not above him, thank God. She'd be a burnt crisp if she had been any higher. She wasn't anywhere in sight or around him, which left…

Turning himself to his right, he was soon facing the ground and three stories below was the girl, her body twisting around as she fell. Right now she had her back to him, her arms and legs stretched out as much as she could, attempting to slow herself much like he had been doing.

Steeling his face, Batman leaned his body down, falling head first. Tucking his arms in, he made himself as aerodynamic as possible, cutting down on air resistance. He could feel himself picking up speed, the distance between them beginning to close. Was it closing fast enough though, before they hit the ground?

He needed to go faster.

As the vigilante drew closer, the girl began to turn. Soon she was facing him, that same blank look on her face. It...it was almost as if she were accepting of what was happening, what would happen to her, and that she didn't care that she was falling to her death. It was a sickening thought.

No wait, was that…? A flicker, some show of life flashed on her face for the first time that night. It was as if something clicked in her head that something was actually wrong. Her eyes began to grow wide, her mouth dropping open slightly. One of her arms moved then, reaching out towards him. Batman could see the fear finally taking over even as her dark hair whipped about her desperate face. Though she had been trained to be a stone-cold killer, she was still a teenage girl. And it was that teenage girl that was silently screaming out in terror for him.

Far be it for him to disappoint her.

The wind screamed into his ears as it constantly buffeted against his body. The entire time he kept his eyes trained on the girl, losing sight of her face as her hair repeatedly covered and uncovered it. Though they were short, they did enough to begin obstructing the terrified look she wore, even as longer blonde ones began to mingle.

 _Blonde hair?_

Batman thought he was seeing things, but there was indeed long, flowing blonde hair whipping around the girl's head. Then, as if that were enough, the hair blew away, revealing the very different, though no less terrified face of Alice Simmons. Her panicked scream echoed in the Dark Knight's ears, distant, yet clear.

His face hardened. This time he would not fail.

Two stories separated them now. As Batman continued to close the gap, the blonde hair vanished, along with Alice Simmons' face, leaving only Cain's protege. One story now, ten remaining feet. Nine feet...seven...

Six... _almost there..._ four.

His heart pounding in his chest, the blood vessels in his ear created a continueous beat, deafening him to all else. He could practically smell the girl, both of her arms reaching out now. Two feet...one…

Contact.

Shooting out his arms, Batman wrapped them around the girl's body, she doing the same around his neck. Her legs swung up and wrapped themselves around his waist as her body pressed tightly against his. He had her. He had her and that was all that mattered now. Well, swinging them to safety was just as important and would be more ideal.

Letting go with his left hand, Batman moved it to his back to retrieve his grapple gun, only to find that it wasn't there. Damn it, he must have lost it sometime during the night. He really needed to carry extra, especially when every night represented a chance to lose it. That was fine though, he did have his cape, so long as the circuitry wasn't damaged in one of his many fights.

Bringing the arm back, he brought both arms as close to each other as he could, one hand activating the electrical current in his left gauntlet. Moving his left arm back, he grabbed the cape and instantly felt it open and stiffen. There was just one problem.

The glider form opened up with the two of them falling vertically.

Goddamn it.

* * *

Gordon stared up into the sky. He was still feeling the aftershock from the explosion atop Powers Hotel, along with the other officers with him. He had just gotten out of his car when the roof exploded, causing everyone to duck down out of instinct. Half of Gordon wondered just how many maniacs had their hands on C4 explosives. It seemed to be everywhere when a crisis was happening.

By the time he looked back up, the Commissioner had a sense of deja vu going on. Underneath the flames, he could just pick out two black dots falling off the building. Taking a set of binoculars from a nearby officer, he was able to pick out a young girl twisting and turning in midair. And above her, the Batman was doing the same.

"Oh Jesus," he breathed out. It was a repeat of the Duchess, where Alice Simmons fell several stories down, Batman giving chase until one of the other vigilante's swooped in for the save. This time, Gordon felt, there would be no last second saves. Either Batman got the job done, or there was going to be a mess on the street.

God, he prayed that didn't happen.

Pulling down the binoculars, Gordon stared at the two growing dots. If he wasn't mistaken, they seemed to be drawing closer to each other. No wait, that really was happening. "C'mon, c'mon, you son of a bitch, get her," he chanted lowly, anxiety filling his chest as he watched the spectacle unfold.

And then Batman caught up with the girl and relief exploded within him. "Yes!" he cheered, pumping a fist up. It was going to be alright; everything was going to be—

That's when Batman's cape opened up, pointing downwards. Though he wasn't completely familiar with all the equipment Batman used, he knew a glider when he saw one and he was pretty sure the nose shouldn't be pointed straight to the ground. That had to be a problem, a major one in fact.

Goddamn it.

Lowering his eyes, Gordon noticed all of the scattered police cruisers parked in the street. Darting his sight up to the falling vigilante and back to the road over and over, it soon occurred to him that if Batman managed to right that glider of his, he was going to need some room to use it. Narrowly skimming over cars was not the way to fly.

That needed to change.

"Back away!" Gordon shouted, drawing attention from all of his cops. "Clear the area! Clear it! Move! Do it now!"

The officers sprang into action then, many of them jumping into the driver seats of the cars. Engines revved as the cars either moved forward and turned, or were put into reverse and backed away. Soon, a clear strip extended from the Powers building and down Garfield Avenue. It couldn't have been clearer as far as Gordon was concerned.

Looking back up to the two falling figures, he found himself swallowing out of nervousness. "C'mon, pull up," he murmured. "Pull up."

* * *

When Batman had first added the glider cape feature into his suit, he had performed a series of scenarios to fully grasp what he was capable of using it for. For the situation at hand, the closest scenario involved him having to use the glider feature with an unusable arm, mostly due to injury. He had performed this exercise over and over within the confines of the cave. In most of the trials, he was able to pull up and angle the glider.

The difference between that scenario and the one he was currently in was that he had done it without added weight and with his strong arm. Right now, Batman had a teenage girl on board, with one arm securing him to his body. He would be damned if he removed that arm, so it was staying.

Sucking in air, Batman began pulling hard on the stiffened cape, trying to alter their head first flight into the pavement. Already he could feel strain throughout his arm, muscles burning from overuse.

 _Pull up._

So far his efforts weren't working. The discomfort he felt in his chest was growing more prevalent, reaching the point he couldn't ignore it for much longer. In addition, his protesting arm muscles were screaming at him, causing his arm to shake under the strain he was putting it under.

They were running out of distance here. They were easily ten, nine stories above ground and those floors were disappearing way too fast. He needed to see more favorable results and he needed to see them _now._

 _PULL. UP._

He bared his teeth as all he felt in his arm was a continuous scream of burning pain from hand to shoulder. The appendage was at its limit. In his other arm, the girl let out a whimper as she clung tightly to him. Images of their bodies lying on the ground in a giant red puddle filled his mind. Slowly he could feel the glider raise up, but it wasn't enough—not nearly enough.

 _C'mon you son of a bitch, you can do this. You have to do this. If you don't, you're dead. The girl's dead. The Court of Owls and the rest of the Gotham filth win regardless of the number of people saved tonight. Now get your damn act together, and pull this God forsake cape_ up.

" _Pull up!"_ he screamed out loud, eyes squeezing tight.

That's when he felt air current hitting his body differently. Eyes shooting open, the world around him seemed to slow down as the drop came to a steady stop, his flight arcing until he was parallel with the street. Momentum kicked in and Batman found himself flying straight over the ground, the pavement mere inches from the girl's back as they skimmed over it.

The Dark Knight wasn't finished, however. Using his still-protesting arm, he forced it up until they began to raise higher up and away from the ground. The two soared up into the night's sky, passing over several roof tops. A sigh escaped Batman's lips as he began to relax. They were in the clear; they were safe.

That was right until they came up to a building much taller than the ones next to it. Though they were level with the top, their climbing speed was slowing. Leaning backwards, Batman attempted to get his feet up so that they could land.

Unfortunately, the ledge proved to be higher than he hoped, his feet hitting the edge. This caused him to tumble forward with his cargo, his left hand letting go of the cape as it instantly went slack behind him. Wrapping his arm around her, Batman twisted his body to a side so that they landed on the roof on his side, skidding across the rooftop and leaving a trench in the gravel in their wake. Eventually they slowed to a stop and Batman finally relaxed his stiff body.

Glancing down, he could only see the top of the girl's head, noting her trembling body against his. Taking several deep breaths, Batman gathered himself before he asked, "Are you okay?"

For a while, it seemed the girl wasn't going to answer him, content to staying where they lay. Just when he was about to give up on hearing a response, the girl moved her head, looking up to him. Her emotionless mask was back in place, as if neither of them had been plunging to their deaths mere moments earlier. That was alright though, Batman wasn't really in the mood to be calming down a terrified girl.

"Hoot, hoot."

Batman's body went rigid before he jerked his head up, seeing two Talons standing nearby, both of them looking down at him. Damn it, not now. He was not up for fighting off two of them, not after when he had just done. Exhausted didn't begin to describe how he felt.

"This is the end of the road, Batman," one of them spoke as they strolled towards the vigilante and the girl. "Prepare yourself for the final—"

"Back off!"

A new voice rang out, causing both Talons to stop their approach and spin around. That's when the two vigilantes, Nightwing and Robin soared up over the edge of the roof, seeming to hover high above the assassins before they dropped down on them.

Robin was the first to land, crouching low in front of one of the Talons. Immediately, the assassin responded by drawing out a dagger and swinging it at the youth's head. Darting to a side, the young man raised a hand up, something bulky grasped in his fingers. The moment a bolt of electricity danced on the objects head, Batman realized it was a taser.

Thrusting the taser forward, Robin pressed it against the Talon's leg, causing the muscles to spasm painfully as the man cried out shrilly. Dropping to one knee, the assassin grasped his thigh. In the meantime, Robin moved behind him, standing up to his full height as he tossed the taser away and clasped his hands together. Swinging them down, he jackhammered the Talon on the back of the neck, knocking him out as his body fell limply onto the gravel.

While Robin did this, Nightwing chose to do a less involved method to take out his opponent. Holding an escrima stick at one end with both hands, the other end glowing blue, the older vigilante landed on top of his Talon, one foot pressed against the assassin's chest while the other landed at his hip. Bringing his arms down, he shoved the blue end of his escrima stick into the Talon's face, the sound of crackling electricity mingling with screaming filling the air.

That was all it took to bring that assassin down as he fell backwards. Nightwing assisted with the fall, using the falling assassin as a springboard as he flipped into the air and landed on the ground with the ease of a gymnast. The force of his kick-off made the Talon's body crash hard on the ground.

Both young men looked to each other, throwing a satisfied smirk to their opposite number. "So Batman, need anymore help?" Robin quipped as he turned his attention to the Dark Knight.

In response, Batman...said nothing. Instead he looked down at the girl in his arms, who had returned her attention to him. It seemed they were having the same thoughts at the display they had just seen. Sighing, Batman dropped his head down, making a soft thud on the roof.

As far as he was concerned, this night was over.

* * *

The inspiration for the explosion of Powers Hotel and Batman's subsequent fall came from the Arkham City game, where Hugo Strange blows up Wonder Tower and Batman and Ra's al Ghul are left to fall. Obviously this one had a different result lol.


	27. Fallen Angel

**A fallen angel, in the dark,**  
 **Never thought you'd fall so far.**  
 **Fallen angel, close your eyes,**  
 **I won't let you fall tonight.**  
 **Fallen angel, just let go,**  
 **You don't have to be alone.**  
 **Fallen angel, close your eyes,**  
 **I won't let you fall tonight.**

 **-Fallen Angel by Three Days Grace**

* * *

 _THE NIGHT OF OWLS_

No, that didn't work.

 _TALONS FROM THE SKY_

Better, but that worked better as a title for some B-list horror movie.

 _NIGHT OF THE LONG KNIVES_

Too Nazi.

 _OUT OF LEGEND, A LONG BLOODY NIGHT_

Much better. She was onto something here. In fact, she'd keep this one for the time being.

 _OUT OF LEGEND, A LONG BLOODY NIGHT_

 _By Vicki Vale_

 _Ask any Gothamite what keeps them off the streets, their doors locked at night. Some may say crime and danger and gun violence. Other, more insidious elements of the city may cite the Batman as their reason. But, if you were to ask the children, they may mention what many consider to be a story about a boogieman, something one would grow out of much like the Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus._

 _Last night, no one doubts the reality of the Court of Owls._

 _Like a cloud of locust, or perhaps Owls to be apropos, the Talons, the infamous assassins of the fabled Court of Owls, descended upon Gotham. Men and women that shaped the city from the top of the local government to the street level mobsters were targeted, many of whom were slain. Blood stained the carefully designed, neglected, and trash-covered streets._

 _All were targets. While Mayor Marion Grange and several city officials were protected and escaped the night unscathed, others, such as Judge Jan Spitz, were not so fortunate. Even business leaders like Lucius Fox were attacked_

Vicki stopped typing. Her eyes blinked several times as she contemplated what she was writing. Wayne Enterprises had been attacked yet again, the target being the company's well-known number two guy. But what about Bruce Wayne? Why no reports that Wayne Manor had been the scene of a bloody stand-off? Surely that would've made news—in fact, with how synonymous the Wayne name was with Gotham, his death would've shaken the city to the core, a painful reminder of the Wayne Murders so long ago.

So why no attempt?

While it was a widely-held belief that Fox was the true brains behind Wayne Enterprises status as an industry leader, Vicki knew well enough that Wayne did put effort into the company. She had been in his office enough to see he wasn't simply snoozing behind his desk all day like many believed. Still, that could be a large reason why Wayne may not have been targeted.

Yet, Vicki had a sneaking suspicious that an assassin had to have been sent to Wayne's house. That the assassin had searched the winding halls and rooms used and forgotten for the billionaire, but couldn't find him.

Because he wasn't there.

If her theory was correct, then there was a Talon hiding in Wayne Manor, or perhaps lying on the floor with his head bashed in. That there were probably multiple attempts on Wayne throughout the night, all of which failed spectacularly, including the huge explosion atop the Powers Hotel.

Vicki smiled. Oh yes, she strongly felt that this was much more likely than the dark-haired man being cast aside during the Court of Owls brainstorming process.

Her fingers began typing on the keyboard again, the clattering of keys filling her ears. The words she used, the paragraphs she weaved became inconsequential. She'd finish this piece and send it to Harry for editing before lunch and go back to her real investigation.

That was the real story.

* * *

There was an eerie feeling in the air. The stacks of shipping containers mixed with the light fog hovering over the area created a sense of ill ease. The only sound Dick could hear was the hum of his motorcycle, that dying a moment later as he twisted his keys and killed the engine. Silence took over.

"Tell me again why we're here?" Tim asked then, standing next to one of the shipping containers as he looked to the older man.

"Not really sure," Dick answered for what felt like the tenth time. And to be honest, he didn't really know. It had been a couple days since that long, _long_ night and the dark-haired man was still recovering. Physically, mentally, it had been a long and painful grind.

There was also Barbara.

She was still in Gotham Mercy and hadn't seen fit to wake up yet. All he knew was that she was in stable condition, which was a hell of a lot better than when he had dropped her off in the Emergency Room with no clue if she would make it through the first hour, much less the night.

As if he knew what Dick was thinking, Tim asked, "Thinking about Barbara?" When he didn't get an answer, the younger man turned his head to look out at the path in front of them, scanning the pending maze. "She's going to be fine," he then said. "Just fine."

"I hope so," Dick responded.

"We did everything we could. She's out of danger; now it's up to her to wake up and start nagging us again."

The corner of the older man's mouth twitched up. "What do you think will be her first words?"

"'You're brooding too much, Dick'," Tim answered, his voice in a fake falsetto. "'Keep doing that and you'll turn into Batman'."

Dick snorted. "Not too sure if you know this, but Barb would consider that a compliment."

As if that were a signal, the two men began to walk into the maze of shipping containers. "You think so?" Tim questioned.

"Oh yeah. She had a major crush on the Bat way back when. I visited her at her house once and found this album with all these pictures of the guy, news articles and all." Another snort. "Barbara nearly stabbed me with her fork to get it back."

"Wow. No wonder you try to act like him. Think if you wear the costume she might jump your bones?"

The older man looked at the younger one, raising an eyebrow. "'Jump your bones'? Who says that any more?"

Tim returned the look with a deadpanned one. "You know what I'm getting at."

Reaching the end of the path, the two men stopped. Putting a hand into a pocket, Dick pulled out a piece of paper and glanced at it. On it were the words PIER 6, CONTAINER 3278. The youth had found this on his desk in his apartment, his window conveniently opened since the curtain was dancing with the entering wind. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had left the note there.

But it did raise up all sorts of questions. What was at this shipping container? Was it a trap where the GCPD would jump out and arrest them? Would the Bat be there in person? There was just too much unknown; yet, here they were.

This would prove very interesting, or horrible depending on what happened.

"I think we go that way," Tim said as he pointed to the right. Nodding in agreement, the two headed that way, falling into a comfortable silence. They ended up taking a left at another intersection, then a right at the next until they finally found themselves at a dead end. A set of doors to a shipping container greeted them, a small plaque with the number 3278 glued to it. Glancing to each other for a moment, the young men slowly approached the doors.

It was Dick who grabbed the handles. Taking a deep breath, he mentally prepared himself for whatever lay on the other side. Feeling he was stalling the inevitable, the young man undid the lock and pulled the doors wide open.

What he found on the other side was not what he expected at all.

The walls were lined with shelves, each one containing smaller boxes with transparent lids. Visible through the lids were throwing stars, batarangs, grapple guns, utility belts, smoke pellets, and all sorts of other goodies lying in styrofoam bedding. There were even a couple of motorcycles in the back, sleek and black and ready to be driven. Struck by the sight, neither of the men realized they had slowly stepped inside the container, observing everything they looked at.

"Wha...what is all this?" Tim breathed as his eyes jumped from shelf to shelf.

"It—" Dick stopped as he swallowed deeply. "It all looks like supplies and weapons. All the stuff that the Birds of Prey use, but better."

Tim looked to the older man. "Do you think this is from…?" he trailed off.

It had to be, if Dick was honest with himself. But why now? After all the threats and posturing, why did the Bat give them all this stuff? This was supposed to be a trap, right? No way was the vigilante _approving_ of their presence. Yet, as he continued to stare, it seemed more and more that this was indeed some sort of silent approval.

What Dick wouldn't give for Barbara to see all of this.

* * *

There were so many things that Commissioner Gordon needed to do. Damage control, coordinating efforts to clean up the...mess from the previous night, defend his decision to temporarily release Fries from Blackgate…

He was doing none of those things.

Instead, he was right where he needed to be, at the side of his daughter, who lay bedridden in Gotham Mercy, medicated to sleep with only a heart monitor telling him that she still lived. While he had been at Blackgate, she had been...she had been on her way to the station to pay him a surprise visit.

That was when, he had been told, she had been attacked by the Talons.

He was so grateful that she had managed to live as long as she had. She was truly his daughter, a fighter through and through. She had plunged headfirst into self-defense classes and even a Karate class here and there, all so she could defend herself. Against a Talon, however, it didn't stop her from being hurt. He had heard that one of the vigilantes running around—not Batman—had brought her to the Emergency Room. She had needed a blood transfusion from how much she had lost.

He should have been there. He should have been there to protect his daughter from this.

The guilt was...it was what he deserved. She was his daughter, damn it. He was supposed to protect her, make sure that nothing happened to her. She may be in college, but that would never change the fact that he still saw her as the daddy's girl she was. Always eager to see him when he came home, wanting to know about the bad guys he caught that day, planning to study criminology as her major…

...scraped knees with no signs of tears, smiles with missing teeth, "your the best daddy in the world..."

Even now, Gordon could see not the body of a young adult, but that of a small girl, made smaller by all the medical equipment around her. Had she always been that small? So...breakable?

 _Hold it in, Jim, Barbara needs you. She needs you to be right there, a smile on your face, and absolutely no tears. Because daddies don't cry, right?_ Of course they didn't, because only daughters could cry for them. And his daughter would never cry because he had promised he wouldn't let her, so that meant he couldn't break down.

He needed to be there, simple as that.

So he would wait. He would wait until she opened her eyes and when she did, her father was going to be the first thing she saw. That how things needed to be.

Sarah and Bullock could handle things at the station. From all told, they had managed to hold things together while he had been running for his life at Blackgate. They knew what needed to be done and how they needed to be done. This wasn't their first time dealing with all the crazy shit this city threw at them. It wasn't going to be the last either.

It didn't change the fact that the commissioner of the city should have been at the station when this all came down.

Gordon looked towards the door as he heard the door knob turn. From the other side, a short, African American man in a doctor's coat entered, a file in hand. Gentled eyes looked up at him from a balding head, short, black hair lining the sides as they gave ground. From a small name badge on the his coat, the name DuQoi was barely visible, the room's lighting blocking out the first name.

From all appearances, this had to be the doctor.

"Commissioner, I didn't expect to see you here," the doctor greeted him.

"This is the only place I need to be," Gordon replied, turning back to Barbara.

"It will be some time before the medication wears off," the doctor stated. "If you wouldn't mind, there's something I need to speak with you about."

"What about?" Gordon took his eyes off his daughter once more, only this time kept them on, he presumed, Dr. DuQoi.

"This won't take long; it concerns your daughter's injuries." Now he was giving the white-haired man a look, one that suggested that the two of them leave the room for a moment.

Only taking a last glance at Barbara, Gordon stood up and followed the other man out of the room. He had a feeling in his gut that he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. He closed the door behind him, maybe as a way to delay whatever it was he was about to be told, or to give some privacy to his unconscious daughter, he didn't know.

"Commissioner, your daughter didn't suffer too many wounds last night," Dr. DuQoi began, looking down at the file to make another check. "The majority of them were self-defense. Scratches, bruising, nothing that no one couldn't recover from. There is the matter of the cut made in her back; that one was more extensive and was also the source of most of her blood loss."

"Just give it to me straight: what are we looking at." Gordon didn't want to beat around the bush any further. It was like this man was building him up to something.

"I'm afraid that the vertebrae of her spine was damaged and the spinal cord was severed." There. There it was, given simple and bluntly. "We tried to do what we could, but the damage in that area was too great."

Gordon could feel his stomach drop. It was almost an ache at this point. "What are you telling me? Is she...is she paralyzed or something?"

 _Please don't let it be that,_ he silently prayed. He didn't know how his daughter, who was always so active, who was a damn good gymnast in her own right, would take such news. She was a person so full of energy, who was always on the move, and wouldn't let anyone keep her from a place she wanted to go.

"From the waist down." There was the confirmation. "We need for her to wake up first before we have confirmation, but it doesn't look good. I'm sorry, but she may never walk again."

 _No, goddamn it. No! NO! No, hold it, Jim. You can't break down now, especially after this. Damn it, you should have been there, you son of a bitch! Why weren't you there to protect your own damn daughter from this? Why?!_

 _Stop. Just...stop. Beating yourself up now is not the time or the place for this. Not when she needs you now more than ever. She needs you to be strong now; strong so that if only for a moment she could be weak. So she can be daddy's girl for one more moment._

Rubbing the bottom part of his face, he took in a deep breath to calm himself. "Thank you. I...I'll tell her."

"Do you need anything?" DuQoi asked. So much compassion, but Gordon only saw pity. He didn't need any of that.

Shaking his head, he turned away and returned to his daughter's room. He sat back down in his seat, at the bedside, and continued his vigil. If nothing else, he would be the first thing she saw.

And it would be from him that she would learn the awful truth.

* * *

It was silent within the Birdcage. Dinah was sitting backwards in a chair, her legs straddling the back as her arms rested on top of the headrest. Katana was standing in a corner, arms crossed over her chest, eyes little dark dots that seemed to be looking everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

And Helena was standing over by one of the tables they had set around the room. One hand was lingering on top of the furniture, softly touching it as she nervously traced over a flaw in the woodwork.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Dinah repeated the same question for what had to be the hundredth time. Her blonde roots had to be showing because the woman wasn't nearly this incapable of understanding a simple message.

Helena sighed. Perhaps the skepticism wasn't unwarranted. After all, the two of them had made it a point to form this little group of theirs. The dark-haired woman wasn't going to lie, this wasn't easy. But after what happened with the Court of Owls, they had all reached a boiling point, one that required they take action.

The tension that had been building since Black Mask was too much. The distrust that was aimed at Helena, at first being a mild annoyance, was overwhelming now. Their argument in the suburbs was a symptom of even worse things to come if they pretended nothing was going on. This was why she had called this meeting and strongly encouraged the other two women to be there, lest they only have a piece of paper to gape at for hours on end.

At least that's what Helena pretended would happen. More like the other two would drop by her modest apartment and demand the same answers they wanted now. The way she figured it, they'd do all this without compromising the other's cover more or less.

Taking a deep breath and wishing for all the patience the world had left to offer, she reiterated, "I'm leaving the Birds. It's what's in the best interest of the group."

Katana remained silent in the corner like she had after the first time Helena had said this. It was Dinah that seemed to be the more difficult of the two. As if to prove this true, the blonde lowered her head and shook it. "Why?" she questioned in disbelief. "Just tell me that."

Those prayers were becoming more demanding now. "Let's not fool ourselves, there's some serious problems going on—trust issues. You guys don't trust me not to kill people and I can't trust that you two will back off no matter how many times I say that I intend on doing no such thing. It's an endless cycle that has to stop if the Birds are going to continue."

"All the more reason for us to stick together," Dinah argued back.

"And what? Relegate us to the outskirts of the city so no one gets hurt? The bad guys don't get hurt? That's no way for _any_ of us to operate. How many people died last night because we decided to stay out of the thick of things until it was damn near too late?"

The blonde shook her head. "I'm not saying there isn't a problem here, because you're right, there is one. But the answer isn't to split up. We work it out like we have done for the last three years. That's how groups work."

Helena raised an eyebrow in response. "Work it out, huh? The same way we worked out these issues of ours? Oh wait, you and Katana decided to keep an eye on me for the last year and tip-toed around the subject until your hand was forced."

Before there was a retort, Katana spoke up, causing the two women to look at her. "She right," she agreed. "We not handle this in best manner."

"Some mistakes were made, yes," Dinah said, a weariness in her voice. "But we work on them, improve upon them."

"Okay, then how about this," the dark-haired woman challenged. "You're pretty much the leader. You and Katana work really good together. Hell, you have better chemistry than either of you has with me. The Birds are going in a direction that not all of us are going in together, which is an even bigger issue than the 'one that shall not be named'. All in all, this is ultimately for the best."

"Don't sell yourself short," Dinah snapped angrily. "You're just as important as any of us."

"Maybe as a checkbook," she snorted back. "And if that's a worry for you, don't worry, there's still plenty of room in my 'trust fund' to keep you guys supplied. Maybe not with all the stuff you're accustomed to, but it'll keep you operational."

"That isn't want I'm getting at!" the blonde bellowed.

"Then what is?!" Helena roared back.

"Enough," Katana interjected calmly, a sharp contrast to the raising voices of the other two women. "We arguing in circles now. Helena wishes to go, not for selfish purpose, but for health of Birds of Prey. If that is her wish, then I say we do so."

Helena blinked her eyes. She really hadn't been expecting to hear that to be honest. "Uhh, thanks?" she spoke after a moment.

The Asian woman looked at her then. "Time may come when you wish to return to us. If that come, I will welcome back with open arms. If day not come, that is fine too."

Slowly, the tension in the room seemed to flow out, along with Dinah's resistance. Again her wary look was on her face. "If you agree with Helena, I guess that's that then," she mumbled.

Helena offered a cocky smirk. "Don't fret your perm, Blondie; this isn't the end. I might just come back like Katana says."

"You might not either."

"Still, this needs to happen. We can always be friends."

There was silence before Dinah finally snorted. "You just friend zoned us, didn't you."

Helena's smile grew. "Bet that's a first for you."

"Yeah, yeah it is." The blonde woman sighed. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"You can count on it."

* * *

As the city began to rebuild itself from the various assassinations, there was one person missing from all that when he should have been out there, showing that he was in no way intimidated. Yet Harvey had taken a few sick days off and was out of the office, leaving the start of several prosecutions in the hands of his staff.

Some very wealthy Gothamites had been arrested that nights, people whose families had ties to the very founding of Gotham. People who had the kind of wealth that lasted generations, and whose skeletons had been dragged out of the closet when the Powers Hotel exploded.

These were prosecutions that needed him involved. Doubtless there was someone out who was "helping" with evidence against these people, but Harvey still found himself in his home.

With only the pants he had on that night and a white wife-beater, the District Attorney sat back in his recliner, staring straight into the dimly lit den. He was not a coward. These sick days weren't convenient.

They were necessary.

There was a reason why he never got drunk. Why he didn't get high, or do anything that would make him black out. Because he was afraid of blacking out. Because when he woke up from a blackout, it was always to something horrible. During that night of owls, or whatever the press was calling it, he had blacked out when he had been cornered in that bathroom. When he woke up, it was to a dead Talon whose skull had been crushed in with a sink.

A sink he had been holding.

This was not the time for that side of him to be acting up. Not when he had been doing so well for himself. Not when he hadn't had a blackout since leaving puberty. Anger had always been something abhorrent to him because something bad always happened when he got angry. He had spent years learning to control it, to stuff it all into a deep, dark place, and pretend that it didn't exist.

After all these years, Harvey felt like he was slipping again.

Without warning, the lighting brightened up. He blinked as he felt himself torn out of his thoughts and he looked up at the very beautiful sight of his Gilda. The dark-haired woman was looking down at him with concern, dressed prettily as always in a blouse and skirt. Much better than what he was wearing.

"Harvey, are you feeling alright?" she asked, her voice like one of those light ringing bells. something almost holy, in a way. She pressed a delicate hand against his forehead, feeling his temperature. He allowed it, wanting to savor her touch.

"I'm...just tired," he answered eventually.

"That's new," Gilda remarked as she pulled her hand away. Harvey almost groaned at the removal of physical contact. "Harvey Dent, the workaholic D.A., is tired."

He cracked a wry smile. "Anything is possible Gilda. I just need a couple days to get my head on straight. It's been a while since the last attempt on my life."

"It's really shaken you up, hasn't it?" his wife asked as she balanced herself on the chair's arm.

"I wouldn't say that." He looked away sheepishly.

"It has," Gilda corrected him, placing a hand on his cheek. "I remember, the day after Halloween 2.0, you were back to work by morning. The same after the October 27th Attack. There's something different about this one. You can tell me if you want."

"I don't want to bother you with it. It's my problem. I need to deal with it before I go back to making you proud of me." He looked her in the eyes, pleading with her to drop it.

For a brief second, he had a flashback, the sight of the Talon's body, blood everywhere, and the sink in his hands…

Harvey felt like he was going to be sick…

"...vey? Harvey!"

His eyes blinked rapidly as he came back to himself. For a moment, the urge to push Gilda away from him filled him to the brim, but he resisted. He had promised himself, the day he first laid eyes on this woman, that he would never push her away. She was too delicate for him to do that.

"Harvey, I'm really worried about you!" Gilda's exclamation pulled him out of his thoughts for the second time in rapid succession. "Please… If you don't want to tell me...then how about you see a shrink?"

Harvey snorted. "A shrink? Gilda…"

"At the very least talk with one," she insisted.

"Gilda, I'm not...I'm not sick like that," he argued. He didn't have any mental illness. He just had anger problems that got out of hand when he wasn't in control. It wasn't the same thing. "I don't need to see a psychiatrist or whatever. I can handle this."

"But you aren't, and it's not just because you were almost killed," the dark-haired woman pressed. "Don't think I haven't noticed, Harvey. You've been more distant lately. More stressed. A shrink can help out with that."

Harvey would have rolled his eyes at that, but he didn't have the energy to do that right now. Maybe later.

"How about this? Just go for one session. Do that, and I'll drop it," Gilda proposed.

Harvey raised an eyebrow at that. "Really?"

"Yes." Down she went, pecking her lips against his.

That was a very convincing argument there.

"Fine, but just one," he told her. "You wouldn't happen to know the number of one, would you?"

"I have a friend who's seeing one and he's done wonders for her," she said.

"And does this wonder man have a name?"

"Victor Erie. Doctor Victor Erie."

"Eerie?"

"It's spelt like the lake." Upon seeing the look on his face, Gilda's eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that look, Harvey. It's just for one session and besides, you might like it enough to stay for more."

Harvey highly doubted it, but if it would make Gilda feel better. He'd do it. What was the worst that could happen, right?

* * *

It was all over the news. Hell, it was the talk of the town. That didn't make it any less awesome, though. People tended to take things for granted until something major happened.

Kicking open her door, Harper Row marched into her modest apartment, a stack of newspapers and magazines in her arms. Using her foot to shove the door closed, she then headed for her dingy table and dropped her load on the table top, a dull _thud!_ being made.

Grabbing a nearby chair , Harper pulled it up to the table and took a seat in it. Her brother was out and would be for some time yet, which gave her all the space, time, and pleasure to herself. Grabbing the newspaper at the top of the stack, she pulled it towards her and stared at the front page.

Some photographer had been hanging around the police when they had stormed the Powers Hotel. Because of that, the front page picture was that of the building exploding. It was truly magnificent to behold, but she wasn't too interested in it. She only stared at the picture in case she could pick out something that everyone had probably missed. Practically pressing her nose against the paper, she stared intently at the photo.

It was awhile, but finally she pulled her face away, seeing nothing of what she was hoping to spot. Instead she opened the newspaper and began scanning each and every page and until she finally found what she had been searching for. The quality wasn't great and it was obvious the photographer hadn't a long-range lens on his camera at the time, but it would have to do.

Smiling, she gazed at the sight of what was best described as two dots. Upon closer inspection, one could just make out they were two people, one of which was Batman. According to damn near every newspaper, blogger, and Twitterer, the vigilante had dived off the side of a burning building to save a falling person. Darting her eyes to another picture on the page, she saw a better one of Batman's cape open wide, creating the image of an upside down bat against the side of the Powers Hotel.

An entire page had been dedicated to show more and more pictures of that slowly-becoming-famous fall. From the picture of the two dots, to Batman flying just off the ground, to swooping over a couple buildings and disappearing from sight. Oh yeah, she was definitely keeping this one.

Folding the paper, she placed it on top of the table before taking another one from the stack. Harper had been on a Bat-craze ever since she had saved his life in the sewers. Colin had been in speechless awe when she had told him, then promptly began rubbing her hands on his face. His words: "Hands that touched Batman. Woooow." That had been kinda creepy.

The high from that had lasted until this latest thing, exploding into the stratosphere. Had it not been for her, there would not had been a Batman to fight those assassin guys and a lot of people would have died. She had indirectly saved people. So...freaking...awesome.

She wanted some more of this high.

So she wasn't exactly trained for it, fighting thugs and punks and the regular Gotham trash—not to mention completely out of the league of the guys who could challenge Batman. Yet, there were other vigilantes and they were pulling their own weight. Hell, Batman had _called_ for _them_ for help.

If fighting wasn't the way for her to go, there had to be other ways. One day, when Batman jammed all the frequencies in the cities and asked for help, she would be one of those who would answer the call.

She just had to figure out how to get there.

* * *

Batman sat in a rickety chair, leaning forwards as his fingers entwined with each other. This wasn't the cave back home, but one of his many bunkers throughout the city. The cement flooring and bare walls were highlighted by the bright fluorescent lighting.

And sitting a couple feet in front of him was the girl he had saved, her legs curled beneath her, her arms pointed straight down like arrows with her hands pressed onto her thighs. She looked as if she were at attention, awaiting his word on what she would do.

Just like she had been trained to do.

The things the Court of Owls had done to her, that David Cain had done to her, appalled him. Shortly after bringing her to this bunker, he had realized the girl had been incapable of talking. Verbal words were not formed and released. Instead, she had began making gestures, ones the vigilante had recognized as martial arts signs. It had taken awhile to get the gist, but it became readily apparent that this was the only way she had been taught to speak, though pantomimed violence.

Just the thought infuriated him to no ends.

From what he could gather, the girl had been taught since birth how to fight, how to read her opponent's movement with unerring accuracy...and how to kill. She hadn't revealed how much blood was on her hands and he hadn't asked, but he highly suspected there was a body count. All of this at the expense of talking, reading, writing, and a host of linguistic abilities most took for granted.

Yet, that wasn't all she had lost. All she knew was killing—that was her entire life in a nutshell. There was no telling how old she was, though he was able to extrapolate she had seen at least 15 winters. So that made her about 15 or 16 at the very least. She also had no known name, so he had nothing to refer to her as other than "the girl." There was also no known family she had, no one she could turn to other than the Court and there was no way in Hell Batman would return her to them.

It was once said that if a person saved a life, you became responsible for them. It seemed the Dark Knight was taking on a literal interpretation of that.

However, he was beginning to see similarities between themselves—disturbing ones at that. The focus of her short life on one single, solitary goal was similar to his fight for Gotham. Everything else had been shoved to the side. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had been neglecting other parts of his life, namely his role as Bruce Wayne. When had been the last time he had been out in public solidifying his reputation as a playboy and warding off a connection between both of his personas? He honestly couldn't remember. Surely he had done something over the last year.

It was about then that he realized he usually had someone minding those details. Alfred had been in charge of that area and had ensured that his public exposure was plentiful. With him gone, none of that was happening. Sure, Zatanna had been around during his return, but she had struggled in that role, not to mention having other things in mind for them.

That was an oversight on his part, one he intended on rectifying immediately.

The girl would benefit from this too. Just because there were plenty of things she had yet to learn didn't mean it was too late for her to do so. While he had no intention on keeping an assassin, much less using one, there weren't a lot of options for her.

Finding that he had been gazing at his clasped hands, Batman lifted his sights to the girl, who was still patiently sitting before him, awaiting his next words. Calmly, he asked, "So you are certain you have no name?"

The girl nodded in response.

"No one taught you to read, to write...to speak?"

Another nod.

"All you were taught was how to fight and kill. Is that correct?"

Again, she nodded.

Batman shut his eyes and bowed his head. Those questions were more to reinforce what he was working with. Running through every idea, thought, and option that was at his disposal, he finally settled on the one he really had no other choice but to make. Taking in a deep breath and releasing it a few moments later, he raised his head up, eyes opening.

"Let's see what we can do about that."

* * *

That's the end for Rise of the Fifty Daggers. The winds of change are coming in this series, though I imagine plenty of y'all can guess how those will turn out. AnonymousVoid and I would like to extend our thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, and enjoyed this story. We were pleased with the response to this one and hopefully it continues with the next story.

That said, the next one will be taking place with the Justice League with AV taking a break like he did with Genesis. This one will be called The Mind's Eye of Desperation and I'm looking to start posting it in early-May.

Until next time,

ShadowMajin


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